


Ringbearers

by Agua



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: A donkey - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Original characters (Entwives), Random background or side characters, Romance, Some of the Maiar, The Valar, Wizards, a ton of other characters - Freeform, including:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 97,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agua/pseuds/Agua
Summary: Frodo is pushed into a world where he never went to live with Bilbo. Nobody knows anything about their adventures, or of the death that will ensue. It might be a good thing, though: what if he could warn everyone?
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Bilbo Baggins/Thranduil, Estë/Nienna (Tolkien), Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Merry Brandybuck & Pippin Took
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

He didn't know how it started, or who started it. All Frodo knew was that suddenly, he was back in his old home, and there were other people in it, and he didn't know why. Not his old home in the Shire -- but the one he used to share with his parents back in the day, before they died and he moved in with uncle Bilbo. It was a pretty bright day, too. The sun was shining out of the kitchen windows, making everything appear somewhat different, as though he were in a dream. And for all he knew, he just might be in one, because as he took off to explore, he found his mother sitting in front of the fireplace.

He didn't stop to talk to her, even as she waved hello to him. He started to run for the exit, and found that he was still in Buckland, which might have sounded obvious to you, but Frodo was so confused that he had missed the obvious.

And there he was, standing in the doorway, looking up at the sky, wondering if he'd died and whether everyone else was here somewhere, too. The sky looked normal alright, and the people who smiled and waved at him as they passed by with a cart or a pig or something, they looked as real as can be.

He could've asked them what the year was, or what was going on, or why his mother was alive and sitting in her rocking-chair as unbothered as can be -- but Frodo only thought of his friends. He hadn't seen Merry and Pippin in ages. The thought of them made his heart clench so hard that he felt like he was going to keel over and be sick.

A few hobbits stopped in their tracks to pat his back and ask if he was alright. He nodded a vague yes, and they left. Only then did he remember their faces. He called out to them, and they turned around, and Frodo couldn't help it. He rushed towards them and crushed them in a hug. As happy as he'd been about his decision to sail to the Undying Lands, he'd missed his friends so much that it had become almost as painful as the wound from Weathertop. They were supposed to be dead, weren't they?

"I missed you two," Frodo let out. "I missed you so much."

"Frodo?" Merry said questioningly. "Are you alright? We just saw you yesterday."

Again, a very predictable reaction.

"Are you two okay?" Frodo fretted.

"No, I meant, are you okay?" Merry rephrased.

"Sorry. Yes, I'm alright," Frodo smiled, wiping his eyes. "I'm just a little bit under the weather."

Merry and Pippin exchanged a look. Merry meant it to be a sharing of concern kind of thing, but Pippin's eyes were bright.

"You know what you need?" Pippin grinned. "A drink at the Green Dragon. My treat."

"Wait, I have to see Sam first," Frodo protested as he was dragged away by his best friends.

"Who's Sam?" Merry let out.

"What do you mean, who's Sam? Have you lost your head? Merry, come on -- Sam, our Sam. Samwise Gamgee, the gardener -- our friend? Sam?"

Frodo threw his arms up.

"You can't be serious. There's no way you're serious. You know Sam, right, Pippin? Sam, round guy, cheerful, has the best flowers in the whole Shire?"

"I know a Sam, but he doesn't live in Buckland," Pippin answered defensively. "What's gotten into you? Why are you so upset all of a sudden?"

"I --"

Frodo shook his head. He was now realizing how ridiculous he sounded, and how concerned his friends must be. He felt a pang of sadness at the thought that it wasn't the same as it had always been -- he couldn't let them in on his plan.

"I have to go."

"To the Shire?" Pippin suspected. "Not without us, you're not."

"Pippin --" Frodo started.

But they already had him in an armlock.

"I don't remember this happening so often," Frodo grumbled.

But then again, things seemed strange. This wasn't his youth -- not really. He might be thirty-three but it felt like he was a thousand years old. And everything felt suffocating.

"Sam, of all people. You should know Sam," he muttered under his breath. "The one who carried me to Mount Doom. The one who tried so desperately to warn me about Gollum. Sam, who was always there -- wait, he's not-- has Sam been on a boat lately?"

"Who even goes on boats?" Pippin cried in astonishment. "If you really do know this hobbit, I have to meet him. Maybe he's part fish or something."

Frodo groaned. Of course, they wouldn't know.

"Let's hurry up, then. If Sam left for the Undying Lands for whatever reason, then --"

"Then you'll come with us to the Green Dragon and forget all about it," Merry cut sternly. "What's wrong with you, all of a sudden? Who's Sam? You didn't even tell us who he was."

"Here's a better question! Why don't you know him? He's our best friend, and my gardener, and his father is old Gaffer Gamgee -- I mean Hamfast -- who makes the best -- oh, forget it. You'll remember him when you see his face. Unforgettable is what he is."

"Unforgettable," Pippin echoed.

"Quite the friend you made, then," Merry added. "I'll have a few questions for him, then. He seems to have gotten you quite agitated. Too much for my liking."

"Let's just hurry up! Where are we even going?" Frodo despaired.

"Steady," Pippin protested.

"Be quiet!" Frodo said in his best Gandalf impression.

It wasn't quite there yet, but still, Pippin kept his mouth shut. But that might also have been because he didn't want to irritate his friend further. He did grow more talkative during the ride back to the Shire, but Frodo ignored it. He was too focused on the scenery to take anything else in. Where were all the trees that Sam had planted? Where were all the new rows? Why couldn't he see Sam's children running around in the grass?

Would Bilbo be at his house, then? Had he left already?

Frodo jumped out of the cart and ran the few last miles to Bag End. Pippin and Merry hollered after him, asking if he'd gotten mad, but he ignored them, which he was getting quite good at. He reached the doorknob, flattened his jacket, and decided to knock instead of opening the door like he always did.

"Mr Baggins? Sir?" Frodo asked, feeling like he was saying something profoundly un-right. "Are you home? Are you home -- that's all wrong! How familiar can I --"

Then the door opened. Out came Sam, holding a broom and wearing some sort of apron, looking like he hadn't slept in days.

"Sam!" Frodo exclaimed with the softest smile he'd had these last few days. "Where have you been?"

He didn't notice his friend looking unusually bothered and kept going.

"I'm sorry to drop this on you, but Merry and Pippin -- there they are -- have been convinced you're some kind of ghost for a reason I can't understand. Here, come prove to them you're real."

"Mr Baggins isn't here right now, sir. I don't think he's -- well, you know. Old hobbits and all that."

Frodo was starting to feel concerned now. The simple use of "sir" felt like he was being thrown a bucket full of ice-cold water in the face.

"Sam, what's -- what do you mean, where's uncle Bilbo?"

"Uncle? I don't know nothing about a nephew of his, now -- if I had known, I'd have let you in earlier. Come on -- and are these friends of yours also relatives of old Mr Baggins?"

"Uh, no, they're, uh -- they're with me. They're, uh, friends of the family."

"Well, come in, then, all of you."

Sam opened the door for him, and Frodo let his gaze wander over him for a while. He looked so young. He had none of the scars that he'd received during their journey, and his eyes were brighter somehow, as though he was less burdened. But his smile was also different. He remembered all the smiles Sam had given him, and how sweet and soft they had been even during moments of despair. But this wasn't one of these smiles. He simply looked like a troubled host trying to look politely pleased in front of his guest.

"Hold on, where are you going?" Merry yelled from the road.

He paid the driver and jumped down, Pippin on his heels.

"Be quiet, just follow him," Pippin insisted.

They passed through the door under Sam's skeptical gaze.

"Act natural," Pippin whispered.

"You act natural," Merry shot back. "None of this is natural! I don't even know this hobbit!"

"Just do it for Frodo, and when he's done, he'll thank us for being there with him during whatever phase he's in."

"Fine, alright. Whatever you say, Pip."

The sound of Sam pouring everyone a cup of tea shook them from their quiet discussion.

"How did you meet Mr Bilbo again? Whose side of the family are you on?" Sam asked a little too suspiciously.

"I'm Drogo's son," Frodo explained.

"Ah."

"I'm you're not on a boat, Sam," Frodo let out with a sheepish smile. "For a second, I thought you'd left. I mean, not that -- well, I left. But you took the last board, and I wouldn't have been able to go back with you. Unless the Elves built new boats. I'm sure that's what you would've done anyways. Never one to give up, are you, Sam?"

That's what I like about you, he added internally. But Sam didn't return his warm gaze, or even start to fidget with his jacket like he did when he was embarrassed. He just looked away like some complete stranger was courting him out of nowhere and he was about to tell them he was married. That's what it felt like, anyway.

"What have you been up to?" Frodo let out, a little startled but unwilling to give up so easily.

"Look, I don't know about no boat, but Mr Bilbo never mentioned a nephew. I don't know where he is, but -- well, I offer you my condolences, and I hope that's enough. I think you should leave now. The inn is this way."

Frodo was left feeling completely crushed and out of place. He wanted to apologize, but at the same time, Sam had to remember everything, didn't he? Everything they'd told each other during the journey? The soft kisses on a forehead or a hand, how they'd slept on each other's lap, and how, at the end, they'd been ready to die together… What if he didn't remember?

Frodo realized he didn't want to live in a world where Sam wasn't -- where they'd lost their bond. Their everlasting friendship, the one thing that had kept him going through the pain and the pull to the Eye -- but what if Sam didn't remember? It hurt Frodo so much that he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

"Sam -- do you know me?" he choked out.

Sam looked away from Frodo's horrified eyes.

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

Frodo clasped a hand over his mouth, then removed it and tried to act natural. He couldn't just start shaking Sam like a tree in the wind until he remembered.

"Uh, well, okay, I'll go now. Sam. Mr Gamgee. Mr gardener. Sir."

He gave a fake laugh. Was he panicking? Maybe he was.

"We're going to go, now. Sorry, Mr Gamgee," Pippin chirped.

"No harm done," Sam let out.

Frodo felt his gaze on the back of his head as Merry and Pippin dragged him out of the house. He wanted to shake himself free and look at the house -- it looked so different!

"Mr Frodo," Sam called behind him.

Frodo turned around, feeling as heartbroken as when he'd heard the same call in the middle of the flames of Mount Doom. This was his Sam, his best friend in the world, and it seemed so easy to pull him into a hug and forget this horrible dream he was stuck into. But he couldn't. This Sam was so cold. So detached. It didn't even feel like his Sam sometimes.

"Uh, good luck. I mean, with the grief and all that."

Frodo laughed -- a real laugh, this time. It was easy to think that Sam was joking around, to forget that he seemed to somehow have forgotten everything. He almost expected them both to be back in Valinor, sitting in a green grass field, with Bilbo at their side, laughing their problems away.

"What grief? Come on, Sam. He's not dead, he's just --"

"Thank you, goodbye," Merry yelled over Frodo.

"Stop talking over me," Frodo protested.

"Stop --"

"Calm down," Pippin soothed. "It's not Frodo's fault he's confused. Or sick. Or whatever he is. We just have to support him. Right?"

Frodo felt himself relax into an easygoing smile.

"Fine, I'm confused, you got me. But I know where to find Bilbo. He must be on the road to Rivendell."

"I am not going on a goose chase!" Merry warned a little too loudly.

"It's not even that far!" Frodo protested, unable to be phased by Merry's anger.

Merry sighed and rubbed his face.

"Frodo…What's going on with you?"

He choked on his words.

"I'm sorry, uh, I'll go check up at the inn. You go on ahead."

"Okay!" Frodo agreed in confusion.

He waved him goodbye, but that only seemed to make Merry sadder.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Well, we've both been worried about you. After your father died -- I know it was a long time ago, but I know you or any of us never really forgot about it. We're worried about, well, you know. I don't know. I'm sure it's nothing. Now, come on. Let's go do something fun that'll make us forget all about this nonsense."

"I'd like that, but I don't think I can drink my way back to Valinor," Frodo laughed.

"You can try," Pippin said, dragging him to the inn and pulling him onto a stool, away from where Merry was talking with the owner.

"I'm worried about Merry, too," Frodo admitted. "I've never seen him this worried."

Pippin hummed, then turned to his friend, suddenly serious.

"You know what? I'm disappointed. This Sam, he's not even part fish, and I saw no traces of a boat anywhere. Have you lied to us?"

Frodo felt himself smile.

"I would never! You know, he might not be part fish, but he can swim. Well, a little bit. He did learn eventually, but -- well, did I ever tell you how he swam to me when I tried to leave the Fellowship? The day --"

He couldn't say the day Boromir died with a straight face.

" -- the day the Fellowship broke apart?"

"No, because you've never mentioned Sam at all, ever," Pippin answered. "In your life."

"Well, he swam to me, even though he couldn't swim back then, and it just -- it was just -- something. You know, he put himself in danger just so he could -- it changes a lot of things."

Frodo couldn't properly tell that story without having to rephrase everything to make it sound less emotionally charged. It had been such a show of love that Frodo had never really known how to deal with it. And he had almost drowned there, and when Frodo had gotten him out of the water, the first thing he'd talked about was Frodo. He was selfless, and caring, and… Sam was everything you ever hoped to find in a friend.

"What do I have to do so you'll tell these kinds of stories about me? Remember that time I got you out of that thornbush? That's got to get me a story."

"I -- suppose so," said Frodo, who, in truth, had no memory of the incident. "I guess you'll just have to do it twice."

"Now, that's ridiculous," Pippin snorted, as he took a long sip of his drink.

Something then hit Frodo. Pippin was awfully small, and his voice was more chirpy than usual…

"Wait a second. Pippin, how old are you? Are you even allowed to drink that?"

"I'm -- this is milk, alright? Now, don't go repeating that out loud. I have my dignity. And don't you dare laugh."

Frodo raised his hands in acceptance and took a sip of his ale. It wasn't as good as what he drank in the Undying Lands, but it tasted like home, which made it better-tasting, in its own way. He only needed Sam, and everything would be perfect. Sam, and maybe Legolas and Gimli, and Gandalf, and Aragorn, and Boromir. Arwen, too -- the more, the merrier. And Bilbo, of course. Nice old Bilbo, and his warm, fatherly smile. Where could he be right now? Somewhere in the forest, humming his old travel songs?

"I know Merry won't like the idea, but I'm going to go find Bilbo tomorrow."

"Bilbo -- is he even your uncle?"

"Yes, he is!" Frodo exclaimed, outraged. "He's my uncle, and my caretaker, and we have the same birthday -- in fact, it seems like his eleventy-one birthday was a few days ago."

"That's not a real number," Pippin protested.

"Didn't you hear about Bilbo's birthday party? The whole Shire was invited! A hundred and eleven guests -- and Dwarves, and fireworks, and a fake dragon made of light, and gifts for everyone, and food everywhere -- I'm starting to think nothing ever happened here at all."

"Oh, you mean -- that was a long time ago. I remember some of it."

"How long ago? What year is it? How old am I?"

Pippin stared into his glass as though he hoped it would give him the answer itself.

"That was three years ago. It's 3004. You're probably thirty-five or something."

Frodo heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thirty-six, actually. And if I'm not mistaken, Gandalf paid me a visit this year. Maybe he's still around. He'll know what's going on."

"Gandalf, the fireworks man?" Pippin echoed. "Now that's a trip I'm looking forward to. Hey, Merry!"

Merry turned around.

"We're going to go find Gandalf the fireworks man!"

Merry raised his hand in an approving motion.

"See, I knew he would like that plan better. Now, to finding fireworks people and not losing our mind. Cheers!"

They clinked their glasses together. Somewhere, Sam reached in his pocket and looked at the envelope he'd pulled out. It was almost empty, save for a small shape huddled in its corner, small enough to be a coin, or a tooth, or maybe a ring.


	2. Finding Gandalf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo manages to find Gandalf as the old wizard is on his way to the Shire.

The next morning, Merry and Pippin found themselves woken up by a very disheveled-looking Frodo, who was very agitated and saying something about it being "time". Merry didn't say anything and got up, while Pippin chattered as though everything was normal. To be honest, it already seemed to Merry like things were better than they had been the previous day. Frodo seemed to be in a better mood, at least.

"Where will we find Mr Gandalf again?" he asked, rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

Frodo didn't seem tired at all, which was probably not a good thing, considering his bed looked untouched. Merry reminded himself of what Pippin had said about being supportive and let out a sigh.

"He should be at my -- I mean at Bag End sometime today. We just have to catch him on the way."

"Please tell me you're not planning on going back and having another horrible conversation with your Sam."

The idea that things could ever be awkward between him and Sam was a very foreign concept to Frodo, but he had to admit that things were very different than they were back wherever -- or whenever -- he belonged.

"I thought we could just wait for him by the main road," Frodo answered a little sheepishly. "There's no sense in repeating what happened yesterday."

Merry nodded approvingly, as Pippin let out a huge yawn.

"Did we need to get up this early?" Pippin complained. "We haven't even had any breakfast."

"Let me tell you that when we get --"

He cut himself off. A joke about a trip they'd never even gone on? What was he thinking?

"You know what, you're right. Let's get something to eat first. I just hope he won't show up too early -- no, we can eat along the way. Come on."

There's nothing important to recall about their breakfast-purchasing, except that everyone was a bit grumpy after having awoken at such an early hour. Pippin was stubbornly refusing to keep his eyes open, and Merry had to rouse him every few seconds to keep him awake.

The fresh air that awaited them by the door made everyone a little bit more joyful about their early expedition. Merry and Pippin even jokingly sang a few travel songs (and got a few angry yells from sleepier hobbits than them along the way). Frodo felt hopeful. He had to stop himself from running the last few miles. Hopefully, they hadn't missed him. Who knew when their next opportunity to properly speak with Gandalf would be?

"Why do we need to talk to Mr Gandalf again?" Pippin chirped carelessly, his mouth full of apple.

"Pippin," Merry protested.

"Don't be a --"

"There he is!" Frodo exclaimed.

He'd recognize the sound of that cart everywhere. He took off running after it, until he could see a pointy hat peeking out from behind bushes. It was hard to remember a time when he'd only seen Gandalf as the old fireworks man who occasionally came to talk with his uncle. Even after so many years in Valinor, he'd never been able to call him Olórin, just like Aragorn never seemed to fit Strider too well. He'd always be Strider, and Gandalf would always be Gandalf.

"Gandalf! Gandalf! It's me, Frodo!" little Mr Baggins hollered from his spot on top of the hill.

He couldn't simply scream something as absurd as "do you remember me" from this distance, without even letting Gandalf take a good look at his face, so he trotted down the hill and planted himself next to the wizard's cart.

Gandalf looked exactly the same. As much as he liked to say that he used to have darker eyebrows, Frodo himself had never noticed anything different about his old friend's appearance. He seemed to be stuck in time, like an old tree that only got bigger and wiser as time went on, without slumping over or rotting. Were the Istari immortal? He'd probably asked at some point but couldn't remember the answer for now. The only information that came to his mind right now was the realization that Aragorn's mother was a few years younger than uncle Bilbo. He had meant to tell it to Sam so they could have a laugh, but then the situation had happened. It was completely useless in this situation.

Another idea that came to him at the moment was that he could try to sail back to the Undying Lands to ask the Valar if they knew what was happening, which they would, of course, being the Valar and all. When was the next boat leaving?

In years, Frodo realized. I need a plan B.

But thinking of a plan B would be for another time. Right now, he had to say something to Gandalf, who was squinting at him from under these bushy eyebrows of his.

"Stop running everywhere!" Merry screeched from somewhere behind him.

"Well, hello there," Gandalf let out in a very strange voice.

He didn't even sound mildly rude. Was this even Gandalf at all?

"What are you doing all the way in the woods?"

Why was he smiling? What was wrong with him?

"Are you feeling alright?" Frodo asked suspiciously. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"

"Of course. Little Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo. From Buckland, I think. Very far away from home, too."

"No, I mean -- do you remember me? Better question yet -- where's Bilbo? Is he in Rivendell yet? And what happened to the Ring? Is Boromir alright? And -- why is all of this happening? You must know! You do know, right?"

Merry and Pippin skidded to a halt behind him, giving Frodo an idea that might not be fair to Pippin, but might be just what they needed.

"Here's Pippin! Remember when he made that helmet fall in Moria? How angry you were? It has to make you remember something, right?"

"Frodo, stop, you're going to scare him," Merry whispered.

"Scare me!" Gandalf protested. "Scare me. That's ridiculous. Now, unless you're all planning to take root here and grow a healthy level of moss on your little heads, I suggest you all come with me."

"Growing moss isn't healthy," Frodo said, because he was in a grumpy mood.

"Neither is standing here in this weather. Now, come along, all of you, before I change my mind and decide to leave you here."

"Great, you made him angry," Pippin grumbled.

Frodo helped him onto the cart.

"He's not angry, he's just a grumpy man. He's only ever really angry at you," he commented unhelpfully.

"What did I even do?" Pippin protested. "I don't even know him!"

"I don't know, but we better keep quiet before we learn about it," Merry decided, squishing himself between Pippin and the cart wall.

"I thought you didn't believe anything I was saying," Frodo let out.

They were all made aware of Gandalf's presence when the old wizard signaled to the donkey that was driving his cart to keep going.

"So where are we going?" Merry asked.

"I have some business to attend to in the Shire."

"To see Bilbo, of course -- I mean Sam."

Gandalf squinted at him again.

"I just might get properly angry if you keep cutting me off like that, Mr Baggins."

Frodo let out a laugh. He'd grown far past the point of being scared of Gandalf. After a few hundred years of companionship, you started to see him more like a friend than a mentor.

"How has Sam been doing these days? Is Mr Gamgee -- I mean, his father, of course -- is he doing alright, too? And where's Bilbo? Why did everything change suddenly?"

Gandalf kept quiet for a little bit, then took out his pipe and lit it up.

"Pipeweed! Can I have some?" Pippin lit up.

"You're too young to smoke, Pip," Merry protested, as Gandalf was reaching out in his bag.

Gandalf subtly retracted his hand and pretended it didn't happen. Frodo saw it and stifled a laugh. The wizard shot him a grumpy look.

"Well, Mr Gandalf doesn't know that," Pippin grumbled. "Or rather, he didn't before you so rudely blew my cover."

"You don't even look like an adult."

"Of course I do. Frodo?"

"Any hobbit who drinks ale at the bar is a very respectable one," Frodo said mischievously.

"You drank ale at the bar? Pippin!" Merry exploded.

Pippin shot Frodo an accusatory look. Frodo tried not to burst into laughter.

"Don't look at me, I didn't tell him," Frodo defended himself with a laugh.

"Fine, I drank milk, not ale," Pippin admitted.

"That's much better," Merry sighed.

"Yes, much better," Frodo added.

"Shut up!"

Frodo wanted to turn to Sam to share a smile, but he remembered that Sam wasn't there. Instead, he accidentally turned to Gandalf, who was looking at him pensively between billows of smoke. He was strangely quiet. Frodo had expected suspicion, or anger -- anything but this silence. He was expecting his old friend to turn around and throw them all out of his cart at any second now. Why did he think that going to see Gandalf would be a good idea? They should've just gone straight to Rivendell.

"Do you think I'm a spy of Sauron?" Frodo asked Gandalf, because there was nothing else to talk about and he was growing tired of all this waiting around.

"Who's that? Another friend of yours?" Pippin asked.

"Goodness, no!" Frodo shot back. "Of course not. I'd rather die than feel his Eye on me again."

The mere thought of the horrible, oppressive weight on him -- as though the very air he breathed had become solid and was pressing down on him -- made Frodo feel uneasy. But of course, Merry and Pippin didn't know that. They seemed horrified.

"I might be exaggerating a little bit," Frodo added to soothe his friends. "I mean, who -- it's just an old hobbit's tale. I'm just joking around."

He waved his arm dismissively. Merry looked away from them and fixed his eyes on the road.

"Don't joke about things like that," Merry grumbled.

Pippin pat his back gently. He couldn't find anything to add, so he changed topics.

"Where is your business taking you, Mr Gandalf? Will you be making fireworks again?"

"Not this time, I'm afraid."

Frodo rested his head on his hands, longing to explain everything right then and there. He stopped listening to the conversation halfway through, and focused his thoughts on Sam. Dear old Sam. The specific memory that came to his mind was one quiet evening after they'd come back from their journey. Sam had started to wear reading glasses, and that night, he had been reading until all that was left to light up the pages was the dim glow of the fire. Frodo remembered that Sam got up from his chair and had put his book down, and for some reason, all the details of his face were engraved in his mind. He looked old at that moment, but peaceful, and his smile had been a new one.

Unfortunately, Frodo had to stop dwelling on Sam's face sooner than he would've liked, because the cart was taking the familiar turn into town, meaning Gandalf would be dropping them off soon, and he wouldn't have time to ask him any more questions. Unless he stayed up all night again and waited until he left Bilbo's house -- or Sam's house -- Bag End, either way. It was starting to rain, and Frodo was starting to think that he'd had to walk back to the inn and come up with another plan.

"I suppose this is where we say goodbye," Frodo let out, and it felt a lot more sad than it had sounded in his head.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr Gandalf!" Pippin chirped.

"Will you be back next year with more fireworks? I liked the dragon one!" Merry grinned.

"Why don't we ask young Mr Baggins? He seems to know an awful lot of things," Gandalf muttered with a glint in his eye.

Was he smiling under his beard?

"I don't think so. You kind of left a long time to figure out things about the Ring and Isildur and Gollum and -- I have to warn you!" Frodo screeched. "Saruman is a traitor!"

He immediately covered his mouth, then his face, as he realized hobbits were now turning to look at him. It was certainly not doing any good to his reputation.

"I'm sorry for yelling so loud," he let out sheepishly. "But you have to be careful, Gandalf -- he'll trap you on top of a high tower and the Eagles will save you but he's going to break your face and I don't want to have to hear that story again -- and Gollum, they'll torture poor Gollum, and he doesn't deserve it --"

"Frodo --"

"I mean it! He's going to get hurt and you're going to get hurt and the Balrog, he's going to make you fall down and you'll win but -- and then you'll fall off a mountain?"

Pippin grabbed his arm and gently lead him out of the cart, but Frodo shook himself free.

"You're going to get hurt! So many times! Why does this happen so often in your life? Please be careful, Gandalf -- I mean it, your life depends on it! Please be careful!"

Merry joined Pippin's efforts, and they managed to force him off the vehicle. Gandalf could not look more unbothered even if he tried, but Frodo was panicking, and Merry was scared, and Pippin was upset, and it was all a mess of emotions on the hobbits's side.

"Please! Gandalf, what's going on? Why does nobody remember me? Did I die or something? Is this death?"

Gandalf didn't have time to answer, because Merry and Pippin were dragging Frodo away too fast, and as much as he struggled and kicked and foamed at the mouth (well, almost), he couldn't get free. Curse these young, unfit arms of his!

"We'll see each other again, Mr Baggins. Be sure of that!" Gandalf called after him.

His calm voice soothed Frodo enough so that he went limp, and he let his friends drag him to the inn without further complaining. It occurred to him that he was acting like a wild animal, and that his friends felt that they needed to restrain him. Would Sam even understand? What would Sam do? And where was everyone else? He missed Aragorn, and Boromir, and Legolas and Gimli. And poor uncle Bilbo who was probably alone in the woods somewhere…

Maybe Elrond would know what to do. Maybe he needed to follow the path of whoever had gotten the Ring this time, until he reached Rivendell, and then Lothlorien, and then eventually, he'd take a boat to Valinor and find a way back home.


	3. Spying on Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo decides to go listen to Gandalf and Sam's meeting.

Frodo's only plan was to sneak into Bag End's garden to listen to what Gandalf had to say to Sam. Because of course the Ring would come to Sam: he was so brave, and selfless. People often even called him the True Hero of their quest. That, and Frodo had seen Gandalf heading towards Bag End, which could only mean that Sam was the ringbearer this time around. It was obvious to Frodo, but Merry and Pippin were so flabbergasted by his conclusion that they categorically refused to follow him. It was a little bit hurtful, but he couldn't blame them, so he agreed to go alone.

It was ironic, Frodo thought to himself as he made his way through the bushes (beautiful and well-tended to, might he add), yes, it was ironic that he was the one to sneak in to listen this time. He thought of pretending to snap some branches, just for the sake of it, but it was only a thought: he would never risk damaging Sam's beautiful flowers. Even if they were somewhat his own and he somewhat had a right to them.

This time around, Frodo simply sat down under the windowsill and tucked his coat over his legs to stop the cold from getting to him. He didn't listen very closely to what his friends were talking about, as he knew all of it already, but he did sneak occasional glances inside to try to get a glimpse of Sam.

"What are we looking for?" Pippin whispered next to him.

Frodo jumped in surprise. He would've let out a yelp if Merry hadn't covered his mouth at the last second.

"You're both here? What are you doing here? I thought you would be staying at the inn!"

"Well, we talked about it, and --"

"You might be a cabbage-head, but you're our cabbage-head," Pippin finished. "So we're not letting you get in trouble alone."

"Tell us, why are we spying on his hobbit? What did he do?"

"Did he steal something?"

Frodo let out an outraged squeal.

"Steal something! Sam would never --"

Frodo stopped, because a mighty shadow was looming over them, and they turned around, feeling like children caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Here was Gandalf, looking at them from the window with a glare. "Well, at least, it's not the police," Frodo thought uselessly.

"Well, well, I had a feeling you might drop by. Although I expected you to knock on the front door," Gandalf let out with a glint of humour in his eyes. "Come in, now. Or am I interrupting your whispering?"

He didn't even stop to ask Sam if he was alright with having guests over, which was a very Gandalf thing to do, after all. He usually waltzed into places like they were his own home, which, considering who he was, they might be, in a way. 

"We weren't whispering," Pippin grumbled.

"Well, you might like to tell us all about it, then, over a cup of tea, perhaps?"

"Tea?" Frodo echoed. "This is Sam's house!"

"Perhaps you don't think he has any, then," Gandalf mused. "And if he has any, he might want to hurry with it, because we don't have all day," he added in a louder voice.

There was a noise inside, and Sam let out a "right away, sir".

"This is just like Bilbo's story with the Dwarves," Frodo despaired.

Frodo remembered all of Bilbo's stern lectures about being a good host, and a good guest, and about most of his old travel friends being neither, and suddenly, he felt a little sharp and impolite. His Tookish side, Bilbo would've said.

"Well, not quite, actually, because as a matter of fact, I'm going to go help the poor hobbit."

He walked proudly to the door that Gandalf had left unlocked and barged inside like he owned the place, which he did, or was supposed to, or had, at some point in his life. Gandalf really had been expecting them -- any business concerning the Ring was usually done between closed doors, and even closed curtains.

"Is your Sam in cahoots with the fireworks man?" Pippin whispered behind him. "Are they --"

Then Pippin's face was split in half by a gigantic, relieved smile.

"-- is it secret fireworks business? I knew it! See, Merry, our Frodo's doing alright, he's just developed a sudden passion for fireworks."

"Fireworks!" Gandalf echoed.

He stared at Frodo, but Frodo ignored him, because he was feeling much too Tookish and angry to care about anything. It suddenly started to feel very frustrating that his friends thought he was spouting nonsense, and as he was realizing it, he might not even be able to tell them the truth without worsening the matter. He didn't even want Gandalf to explain it anymore. He only wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and grieve his own reality that felt so, so far away.

"I should've gone to see uncle Bilbo first," he muttered to himself.

He walked towards the kitchen, taking in the familiar carpets, and rooms, and the coats and racks that were all where they were supposed to be. Maybe Bilbo's collection of walking sticks was still there, too. Suddenly, the ache in his heart grew stronger, and he couldn't think of anything but his uncle. He felt like a little boy again, who only wanted to come back home after a long trip. He wanted to hear Bilbo's footsteps, and his voice saying something like "Frodo my lad, don't forget to take that cake to the neighbours", or "don't look at that book yet, it's not finished".

The thought of Bilbo being sharing poems with Aragorn somewhere in Rivendell soothed his heart a little. He was able to shake off his nostalgia and eventually reached Sam in the kitchen. The poor gardener was struggling with the kettle.

"Oh, Sam, it's the other way," Frodo let out softly.

It still startled him. Sam's hands were shaking and he looked completely miserable. Ring business did that to someone. Seeing Sam so upset broke his heart.

Oh, Sam, he thought.

Sam tried to open the kettle again and it worked this time, mainly because of Frodo's advice, because he was shaking like a leaf.

"I'm sorry, sir, one second, the tea isn't quite ready yet."

"No, I'm not here for the tea."

"I'm here to see you" was his planned answer, but he caught himself before he could say anything like that.

"I mean, yes, I'm here to help you with it."

Sam didn't answer, so Frodo expected the worst and started to back away.

"I can go, too. I'm sorry. Gandalf probably didn't tell you -- I'm sure you weren't expecting anyone else."

Then Sam made the slightest move, as if to turn around, and immediately, Frodo stopped. This Sam wasn't his Sam, or he was, but it was different: around this Sam, he had to watch himself. He didn't remember the journey, or the hundreds of years spent in Valinor.

"No, you can stay and help me with the tea. I reckon I'd appreciate that."

"Oh. Well, that's good," Frodo stammered.

He moved to stand next to Sam, and silently placed the cups next to one another, and reached out for the tray in the cupboard.

"The tray's in the lower cupboard over there," Sam explained without turning to him.

"Of course," Frodo let out as he closed the little door, and he placed the cups on the already-found tray.

The silence returned, making Frodo feel incredibly uneasy, even more with each passing second. At some point, their hands brushed, and Sam recoiled like he had been burned.

"Sam, are you scared of me?" Frodo managed to ask after the initial shock. "Is that why you've been acting so strangely?"

"What do you mean?" Sam answered defensively.

"You only act like that in front of strangers, or people you don't like."

"Don't go talking nonsense now. I barely even know you."

The realization finally hit him that Sam really had no memory whatsoever of anything they had ever been through.

"Sam, don't you know me?" Frodo whimpered. "Sam, come on -- don't you remember? I mean, there has to be --"

Anyone could have forgotten about him and he would have been fine. But Sam? Sam was his best friend. He'd never really been away from Sam in years, ever since they had been reunited in the Undying Lands. There had to be something that could make him remember!

Frodo stopped talking when he saw the look of fear on Sam's face. Frodo covered his face in his hands and looked away.

"Well, it's fine, I'll have to ask Gandalf and he'll explain everything and it'll all be fine. I'm sure you'll be alright finishing up that tea on your own. I'll get out of here. I'm sorry."

"He really doesn't know me," Frodo thought to himself. "He only sees a stranger talking about strange things."

He was starting to feel angry now, angry that this was happening to him right when he was happy. What if Gandalf didn't know what was happening either? What if nobody was ever able to help him and he would be stuck reliving his life? Suddenly, all he wanted to do was hide somewhere and wait it all out, but he forced himself to go talk to Gandalf instead -- or beforehand.

"I was beginning to think I would never see you get out of that kitchen again," Gandalf greeted him from a rocking-chair.

Frodo was getting very annoyed.

"That wouldn't be favorable. Not when we have some unfinished business to attend to. No, Mr Baggins, I don't think you're a spy of Sauron, because His spies are usually cunning in their deceptions, which you have not shown you're capable of as of yet."

"I wasn't trying to hide -- and it worked the last time," Frodo protested. "And you don't even remember me, so what's the point of even talking about this? I need to talk to someone who's going to be able to help me," he groaned.

Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"Why did you come to me, then?"

"Because you always have all the answers," Frodo explained. "Why am I explaining? You probably know that, too. But this time, you don't know anything. In all due respect."

He breathed in to calm himself down, then sat down on the ground. Hopefully, Merry and Pippin were off raising the pantry or something and weren't listening.

"What counsel would you have me give you, then?" Gandalf asked.

"I don't know -- tell me how to get back home?

"You would need to tell me how you left it first."

"I don't know. I just woke up and I was in my old house in Buckland, and my mother was alive, but not my father, and Sam didn't know me, and Bilbo had already gone to Rivendell and I couldn't even say goodbye. I knew you would visit today because it's the same day you visited me all those years ago. Oh, and I still have my finger, which is strange -- I can't even feel it."

"What do you think is causing it?"

"My finger? I mean, it's not there anymore -- I mean, in reality -- my reality anyway. And time-travelling… I don't know. I didn't even know it was possible to go back like that. It's not even properly back, because everything has changed."

"In my experience, going back in time is only possible through thought, or during a dream."

"I didn't fall asleep," Frodo persisted. "All I remember is that I was with Sam, and we were in Valinor, and we were having a good time, as usual. And you were there too, and Bilbo, and -- why am I here?"

He shook his head.

"But that's not the important part. Saruman the White, you can't trust him -- he's a traitor. And he's going to ask you to be his ally and work with Sauron but he'll betray Sauron, too, and then Wormtongue will stab him -- and speaking of Wormtongue, king Théoden of Rohan would really need some help. And Gollum is -- he's going to escape when the Elves take him up a tree, and Boromir can't try to take the Ring because it's going to get him killed. There are so many more things I need to warn everyone about -- or rather, that you need to warn everyone about. They'll never listen to me, but they'll listen to you."

"Don't be so sure of that. I've had my fair share of doubts."

"I suppose so. King Denethor certainly didn't like you very much. But -- do you have any advice for me at all? Any idea of how I can go back?"

"Frodo, I'm not omniscient," Gandalf scolded. "I can only deduce things based on my knowledge of the world -- granted, it is wide, but there are things that even I don't know."

"Very little things, then," Frodo pouted.

"Well, sometimes, little things can turn out to be the most important of them all. Like a Ring, or a jewel -- or a hobbit."

Gandalf lowered himself until he was at eye level with Frodo.

"If you want me to give you the answers you seek, be aware of this: I'm going to have to turn away from the business I was planning on doing here, and go search the world for old books and legends that would give us an idea of what we're dealing with."

With a sigh, he remembered how long his last research spree had been: Frodo had had time to go from thirty-three to a respectable fifty years during that time.

"Then who will lead the Fellowship of the Ring? I mean, Aragorn could always take your place a second time, but he's not as wise as you are, or as powerful, or as -- he's not you!"

"All the more reasons to think it through."

"And you're really willing to help me?" Frodo let out, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Don't be so hasty! Good decisions require a lot of thinking, and I think we've both had enough of that for the day."

Frodo nodded and took another good look around the house. It still smelled like it used to, before Sam's family had moved in, and Sam had kept it squeaky clean. He could almost see himself in the walls.

"Where are Merry and Pippin?" he asked, because the house was also very quiet and shenanigans-free.

"I sent them to the pantry to get us something to eat. I thought you and I might need some time to talk."

"Right. I'll get them before they eat everything poor Sam has left in there."

Frodo turned around to leave, but the old wizard stopped him before he could take a step.

"Another thing, Mr Baggins."

Gandalf smiled.

"Bring some seed-cake. I seem to remember Bilbo always keeps a lot of it around."

Frodo snickered and nodded. He hadn't had any seed-cake in ages.

"Of course, I'll bring you some."


	4. Tea for the guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo offers to help Sam with the tea.

Frodo tried his best to ignore Sam's quiet presence not too far away when he had to pass in front of the kitchen to get to the pantry. Trying to ignore Sam felt as wrong as if the sky was raining spoons and knives. He so badly wanted to hold him in his arms -- so much that he couldn't focus on anything else. He took a moment to compose himself, but a few seconds weren't enough. He had to lean against the wall and close his eyes for a few minutes before the emotion passed. He had never felt anything so strange in his life before. It was as though all he could think about was Sam, and everything else felt unreal.

Then he heard Merry and Pippin walking up the corridor, bickering about something.

"I'm telling you, I'm getting taller!" Pippin was stubbornly telling Merry.

"You're not," Merry laughed. "Why are you thinking that? Is it because of all the milk you've been drinking?"

"As a matter of fact, it is," Pippin answered defensively.

"Pip, you're still fourteen, no matter how tall you are."

Frodo turned around, his eyes wide open.

"Yes, but if I'm tall, I can pass as an adult!"

"Why would you do that? You'd still drink milk!"

"Pippin, you're fourteen?" Frodo stammered.

Pippin turned to Merry in triumph.

"Fatty Bolger couldn't tell either."

"Fatty Bolger!" Frodo let out. "Now that's a name I haven't heard in ages."

Frodo then noticed that his friends, who were staring at him in confusion, were empty-handed.

"I thought Gandald had sent you to get food," he noted.

"He did," Merry started. "But we couldn't just take things without asking, so we came back."

"I'm getting hungry," Pippin complained, tugging on Merry's shirt.

Merry grimaced in mock pity. It was during these moments of laughable antics that Frodo realized the most how much he had missed them. Hundreds of years without his best friends -- it seemed now like he had come back from a trip into the desert and was only just realizing how much space water used to occupy in his life. He almost asked them how things had been since they'd seen each other -- did either of them ever get married? Had they gone back to Rohan and Gondor to serve in their army? Had they written books, or -- there! He remembered now, Sam once told him about a little hobbit-boy named Faramir who married one of his and Rosie's granddaughters, or daughters -- or something like that. Probably Pippin's son or grandson, if he was named Faramir. He'd become friends with the Captain during his stay in Gondor, had he not?

And dear Sam who had been elected Mayor five times… The events concerning Sam stuck to Frodo's mind more than anything else. His wedding, for example, or the day little Elanor had been born. It was a shame he hadn't stuck around to meet little Frodo, or little Goldilocks, or little Pippin and little Merry. From what Sam had told him, they seemed like lovely hobbits. He thought without so much reflexion beforehand that he could simply meet them now, then realized they weren't even close to being born. And Sam and Rosie weren't even married.

Wait, they weren't married? Had Sam already fallen in love, then? Would Frodo need to play matchmaker again? That's not why he was asking himself the question, but for now, a fake reason would suffice. And he was still married in the present. He still hasn't taken off his ring -- not that he had to at any moment. It truly was Sam's way to never give up the people he loved.

When he thought about it, Frodo felt his mind grow numb with sadness, but it didn't matter. He would help them be together this time, too.

"Seed-cake, seed-cake -- and the tea -- and biscuits!" Sam rambled on from wherever he was.

Frodo twirled around like a very graceful ballerina and managed to see Sam walk of the living room. Apparently, Frodo was good at ignoring Sam, because he hasn't heard him leave the kitchen.

"I'll go see him," Frodo decided.

Frodo breathed in, then went to knock on the kitchen wall. He found Sam sitting in front of the fire, looking dismayed.

"Sam?" he called softly.

"I'm sorry about yelling like that. Mr Gandalf is an excellent guest, and a good friend. I shouldn't have shouted. And I'm sorry about how I acted towards you. You're a friend of Mr Gandalf's, of course you would know things. I shouldn't have been suspicious."

Sam turned to face him now, and his face, lit up by the orange light of the fire, seemed old and weary. Of course, he was only twenty-four in this early year, but maybe the Ring business was getting to him. There was something about him that made Frodo want to take his hand and kiss it better, like Sam had done so many times for him.

"Did Gandalf tell you about the Ring?" Frodo asked in his softest voice.

"He did -- as a matter of fact, he did so just before you arrived. Have you been listening in? Or is it something else you already knew?"

"I've known for a long time," Frodo said with a sad smile.

He didn't know why he would be feeling nostalgic, but here he was.

"Sam, I just want you to know -- I'm your friend. Or I can be. I'm here to help. I want to be here for you."

Then he stopped, because he was starting to feel like he was overstepping.

"Do you know me? I mean -- I don't mean by that, "Sam, the old Gaffer's son," don't get me wrong -- I mean if you know anything more personal about me, if you get me. Have we met, is what I mean?"

Of course Sam would be the first to ask questions. Always by his side, even in a weird time loop thing.

"We have. We've been best friends for -- I mean, from my memory. You don't remember me -- I mean, you didn't meet me properly until yesterday. I don't mean that I was spying on you! It's all complicated, really. Let's just say that I come from the future."

"The future?"

Sam hummed pensively. To see him believe what he was saying brought Frodo to the edge of tears.

"That would explain why you know Mr Bilbo left for Rivendell."

"You knew about that?" Frodo echoed.

"Yes, well, it wasn't my idea to pretend he was dead -- it was all a rather complicated plan, if you ask me."

"You were pretending he was dead?" Frodo repeated, trying to choke up his amusement.

"I was being vague about it, to throw you off the tracks if you understand me," Sam protested.

Frodo smiled. He couldn't help it.

"Well, I suppose it didn't help that I already knew he was leaving. Last time around, he --"

Frodo's smile dropped to a pained expression he tried his best to repress.

"He left without saying goodbye. But that's all in the past now. And he left me the Ring, so I knew that if Bilbo was gone, someone had to have taken it. Since I didn't live with him this time around, it must have been you. You're still his gardener, right? I mean, of course you are, the flowers look stunning."

Suddenly shy and nervous, Sam started to mess with a loose hat strand. Frodo fought the urge to tease him about it.

"Thank you," he said, with his voice shaking a little bit. "To tell you the truth, it's been awfully lonely here without Mr Baggins for company, sir. I've started to talk to the walls," he said with a smile, and Frodo was unable to tell whether or not he was joking. "I was wondering when Mr Gandalf would come back, to check on the Ring and all that. But it's been lonely. It's been awfully lonely."

Frodo wanted to reach out to touch his hand, but he stopped himself.

"We finished the quest a long time ago where I come from. There's no Ring anymore. The Quest was a success. It'll all work out in the end, Sam."

Sam's eyes glinted as he looked up at Frodo.

"So there's hope?"

"Of course, Sam. There's always hope. For you, anyway. To tell you the truth, I would've given up without you."

Frodo looked down at his feet.

"In your time, you were the Ringbearer, right?"

Frodo nodded.

"I was. I can't imagine anyone else being stuck with this horrible task."

Sam sighed.

"The quest went well?" he echoed. "I mighty well wish it were already over for me. I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if…"

He swallowed up some tears, then brushed his clothes, before standing up.

"I don't know where my head's at. I have guests over and all I can do is go on and on about quests and rings when I should be making tea for them."

"Don't you worry about it, Sam. I'll take care of it. You go talk with Gandalf."

"Oh. Thank you."

Sam looked down at his feet shyly in the most adorable manner. How was it that every time Sam did something -- anything at all --, Frodo felt more fond of him? Finding himself ridiculous, he stood up as well and busied himself with tea to ignore the feeling in his gut.

When Sam left, he was left alone with his thoughts again. Even hearing Merry and Pippin laugh about something didn't distract him. For some reason, he was thinking about Rosie, and how Sam looked at her, and how much he used to love her. Thinking back to when Sam had started to spend more time with her than with him was painful, even if it was a long time ago.

He remembered the feeling of when Sam had told him he wanted to marry her, and the nervousness he'd felt before that whenever he mentioned her. Their wedding and their first child, and the yellow ring on Sam's brown finger. It all made Frodo want to cry. But why?

He remembered waking up in Sam's arms, and smiling because he was the first thing he'd seen of the day. Their long travels in Mordor had been hard, but at the same time, he always looked back at them bittersweetly, because it was then that he had started to see something else than friendship between them. Maybe he had been hoping so much it had distorted his view of reality, or maybe the Ring was blurring his memories of moments that had been quite normal. But they remained some of Frodo's favorite things to think about. He liked to think about the kisses, and the way they held hands, and how much Sam's arms were comforting during cold nights. It all made his heart beat a little bit faster, but it also made Frodo recoil in shame. They were friends, and he was married, and everything was wrong. These moments might have meant the world to him, but to Sam, they'd probably been nothing more than devotion, and to prove it, Frodo only had to look at how he'd looked at Rosie, and how they had started to spend time together, and how happy and nervous Sam had been about their wedding.

Why was he still thinking about that? It had happened once and it would happen twice. Sam and Rosie were meant to be together, and he wasn't going to get in the way of fate. That and he'd personally met her (Fate, I mean) and she was very nice: Frodo didn't want to offend her. He had gone to see her thread sometimes (under her husband's very stern and nervous eye), and it had made him wonder what she did if something that wasn't supposed to happen ever happened. She had told him that fate (not her, but the concept) wasn't something that could ever be wrong, the way that you could make a typo while writing someone a letter. Whatever happened was both meant to happen and not meant to happen. She was blind, and didn't know what color she was using; but Eru, He who was watching them, knew what He was doing, making fate both unpredictable and meant to be.

Her husband had added that the thing he needed to worry about during his life wasn't if it was meant to be or not, but if it was right or not. It made sense that he would say that: his domain was justice (and death, but that's unrelated). Vairë and Namo they were called -- everyone called him Mandos, which only had made Frodo more determined to call him by his true name out of spite. He couldn't just refer to a god by his nickname.

They were quite nice people, as were all the Valar. Some of them were more scary than others, or more sad, or joyful, or loving -- but they were all equally mighty and polite to their guests. Gandalf especially liked to spend his time with Nienna -- he remembered her as the sweet one who cried a lot --, as she had been his mentor.

Speaking of Gandalf, he was peeking through the doorway. Frodo noticed him and turned around with the well-garnished tray in his hands.

"Care for a cup of tea? I know you like wine better, but I suppose it'll have to do."

Gandalf smiled and gestured for him to move forward, and the little hobbit obeyed, pit-pattering against the floor in a rather adorable display. It only made Gandalf's smile wider. Had he always been this happy? Maybe he was feeling ill.

"Gandalf, I was wondering -- have you ever been young? A child, I mean. Back in Valinor with the Valar."

"I can't say I have, no," Gandalf replied vaguely.

"You've been very cryptic these last few days, you know," Frodo accused.

"Oh yes, I have, it's true. I've been thinking."

"You're always thinking. What makes this time different? And why were you peeking at me just now?"

"I wasn't peeking."

"Yes, you were."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose you didn't hear me knock."

Frodo shrugged.

"No, I was thinking."

"See now," Gandalf accused with an amused huff. "Thinking can lead to some unexpected behaviors."

"Well, what were you thinking about, then?"

Gandalf thought for a while, then smiled at Frodo.

"It's been a while since I've seen you look this young and innocent, that's all, my dear Frodo."

Frodo felt like he was going to explode.

"Gandalf? You remember?"

Frodo's face split in two, broken by a sudden urge to cry. He jumped in Gandalf's arms and clung to him like a little boy who needed reassurance, which he kind of was, anyway. Gandalf, in an unexpected moment of sweetness, hugged him back. Frodo thought he must be particularly happy to see him like this again.

"Of course, I remember. Who do you think I am?" he answered at length after lowering Frodo back to the floor.


	5. Fireplace talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the truth -- well, some of it.

Frodo was still crying, and he was holding his face with both his hands, incapable of keeping his cool. Eventually, he had to sit on the ground. Then his breathing returned to normal and he was able to talk normally.

"You remember me?" he said, wiping his eyes. "You remember everything? About the boat-ride, and Valinor, and how we defeated Sauron?"

"Yes. I even remember where the Entwives are."

Frodo's eyes widened, but then a familiar irritation came back to him.

"You still won't tell me?" Frodo protested.

"That's a story I ought to tell someone else," Gandalf explained. "Patience, young Mr Baggins. You will know everything in due time -- everything and more. It's a very long story that we don't have time to properly unfold here and now."

Frodo hummed in annoyance. Then he realized he had been crying for a few minutes now, and that Merry and Pippin might have heard, and since he didn't feel like explaining everything to them, he felt a twinge of anxiety at the idea. But as soon as he remembered Sam, all his fears vanished.

"Is Sam doing alright?"

"What do you think?" Gandalf reversed.

"Why don't you want to answer anything?" Frodo accused.

Gandalf looked at him like he was debating something internally.

"It's not always the time for answers," he answered eventually. "I can't tell you everything right away."

"When will it be time, then? I mean, we have to tell Merry and Pippin something, and poor Sam must be worried sick about the Ring and everything. And what about uncle Bilbo? I was planning to go see him. I had a whole plan, you know. Thought about it all by myself, too."

Frodo puffed out his chest proudly, before a thought came to him.

"Do you know more than me?"

"Generally speaking or concerning our present situation? The answer is yes in both cases."

"Then why --"

"Frodo," Gandalf cut softly.

Frodo stopped talking. Gandalf looked sad.

"I can't tell you everything just yet. I want you to keep this happiness for just a little bit longer."

Gandalf paused and looked at the little hobbit with an expression that was very unlike Gandalf's usual faces. He had been making a ton of new faces lately. But then his brows furrowed and he was back to his good old Gandalf-isms.

"Now, concerning your plan, I'm sure it's an excellent one, but I might need to make some changes."

"Are we going on another adventure?" Frodo chirped.

"Not quite yet. We'll need to make a trip to Rivendell first, where I shall explain everything to you. Then the real adventure will start."

Gandalf looked worried. Since he didn't say anything that seemed worrisome, Frodo assumed it was something he hadn't told him about yet.

"For now, I'm sure you're longing for your friends to finally believe your tale. Why don't you and I remedy that?"

"We're telling them now?" Frodo echoed, shocked, as a smile lit up his face. "Finally! Thank you, Gandalf! I've been waiting for days for this moment! Shall we go now?"

"Of course we shall. Come now. Let's not make Mr Took wait for tea any longer."

"You never call him Mr Took," Frodo chattered as they walked down the hallway. "You usually call him -- wait, you know about that already!"

He giggled, then felt ridiculous, but a cry of joy from Pippin broke his train of thought. The little hobbit was sitting on Bilbo's foot-cushion and waddled his feet happily.

"Hurray! Tea! Glory to Gandalf the tea-maker!"

It reminded Frodo of what he had said after Elrond had healed him in Rivendell. "Make way for Frodo, Lord of the Ring!" He smiled at the memory.

"I made that tea," Frodo still protested.

Upon hearing his voice, Sam, who was sitting in a dark corner, looking very unhappy, perked up, which was a very Sam thing to do. Frodo almost expected a smile, but then remembered again that not everyone knew what they had been through. But still, seeing Sam react to his arrival made Frodo's heart warmer.

Pippin reached out for a cup, but Gandalf was faster, and he moved it out of his reach.

"Hey!" Pippin cried.

"Be careful, it's still quite hot," Gandalf scolded.

"He wouldn't know, he only drinks milk," Merry leaned in to say from where he was sitting on Bilbo's armchair, and Pippin swatted him on the arm.

Frodo guessed that the laughter must have been from what looked like a scuffle to decide who got the chair and who got the foot-cushion.

"Excuse me!" Pippin protested. "Will you stop telling everyone about that?"

"But it's funny!" Merry laughed.

"Why don't we give our gracious host some well-deserved peace for a little while?" Gandalf interrupted sternly.

Merry and Pippin grumbled. Merry grabbed a cup and set in on Pippin's head as though it was a table, which prompted another burst of laughter between them. Frodo sighed in amusement, then reached out to get Sam his cup.

"Here, Sam, I prepared this for you. Just how you like it."

Then he tried not to hide his face in his hands. Little gestures of appreciation were Sam's thing, not his. He didn't see Sam scramble to say thank you and fail miserably in his embarrassment. In any case, he looked delighted.

"How would you know that?" Merry grumbled between sips.

"Peace and quiet," Gandalf ordered to stop the impending mayhem.

The following silence, only interrupted by the crackling of the flames in the fireplace, was even more relaxing than Frodo had envisioned. Sam was sneaking glances at Frodo and hoping nobody would notice -- Frodo sure didn't, but everyone else did, except perhaps Merry, who had stuck his foot between the cushions by mistake and was trying to get it out. Apparently, mayhem happened regardless of what Gandalf had to say about it. Pippin wisely took the teacup and placed it on the little table, to which Gandalf nodded in approval.

"Can we talk now? I have a lot of questions," Pippin let out after approximately five more seconds of keeping his mouth shut. "Why are we in your house? And why aren't we talking about fireworks? Isn't it why we're all here?"

Gandalf had been on the cusp of interrupting before Pippin mentioned fireworks.

"Fireworks? Why on Earth would we be talking about fireworks?"

"Because Frodo's in cahoots with the fireworks man!" Pippin hummed as though it was a little song.

The old wizard sighed. He looked like he had had enough nonsense for one day, so Frodo raised his voice.

"Actually, we're here to talk about how I'm from the future."

Sam nodded approvingly. It made Frodo's heart swell up.

"You're not going to talk about fireworks?" Pippin echoed, disappointed.

He laid his head back on the armchair like he didn't have a care in the world anymore.

"Let's hear it, then!" he let out.

"Pippin, get your head off my foot," Merry protested, wiggling his leg.

"Your foot is very comfortable," Pippin refused.

"Well, your head isn't," Merry grumbled, but he didn't move further.

"Listen to me! It's important!" Frodo insisted.

"We're listening," Merry assured him. "Go on, tell us all about it."

"Well, I woke up a few days ago and my mother was still alive. And you two were -- well, you know, of course you were. And I didn't live with uncle Bilbo anymore, but Sam did. And now Sam has the Ring."

Frodo immediately dismissed his own explanation.

"I mean -- do you remember how Bilbo disappeared from his birthday party? It wasn't a trick. It was the Ring. He left for Rivendell that day. This is where we'll be going. Rivendell is the house of -- well, domain is more like it -- the domain, then, of Elrond Half-Elven, a very wise elf-lord. If you were wondering why his name is Half-Elven, well, it's all a rather nice story, really. See, since he was half-elf, half-man, he was given the choice to be either a full Elf or a full Man, and he chose to be an Elf, but his brother, now, he chose to be a Man, and he became the first king of Númenor. His people, the Númenoreans, they all have a long life because of their elven blood. Their family tree is fascinating, too. Back in Valinor, I asked around, and I was able to trace Lord Elrond's family back to the first elf-lords. Oh, and it's a funny story, because Lord Elrond's daughter, Lady Arwen, she's his direct flesh and blood, but the lady is in love with Strider, who is a very far descendant of Lord Elrond's brother. It's strange to think of how, to Lord Elrond, Strider would be family, but to Strider, well -- to Men, it would be thousands of lifetimes ago, and I doubt he would keep track of his family tree like a hobbit would, or rather, how I did. Elves keep track of their family trees, too, but not as much as we do. I bet they only do it to be able to guess who will get blond hair like --"

Gandalf raised his hand.

"Let's see just how well our friends are following your tale before continuing it, shall we?"

"Why did Lord Elrond's brother get an extended life if he became a Man? Isn't he supposed to be a hundred percent a Man?" Merry asked.

"I thought you thought it was nonsense," Pippin mused.

"It's interesting," Merry shrugged.

"Did Strider and the Lady Arwen ever get married?" Sam enquired.

"They did! I was at their wedding -- we all were, as a matter of fact. It was a beautiful wedding, really, although I'm not as fond of the help they gave me for my book. Lady Arwen, bless her soul, kept badgering me to add more and more of these very dramatic descriptions of Strider. I suppose it tells us they loved each other a lot."

"Would that make their children half-Half-Elven? Would they get to choose, too? Would they get twice the extended life?" Merry added.

"I don't know. I wasn't there to see it."

"What's the name of Lord Elrond's brother?" Pippin chirped.

"Let me see…"

"Elros, of course," Gandalf interrupted. "Son of Elwing and Eärendil."

"Oh! Of course, I remember. They have elven blood from their father's side, because he was the grandson of Turgon of Gondolin, the great elf-kingdom. And their mother, Elwing, was the granddaughter of Thingol and Melian -- and Melian is a Maia, which is -- what is a Maia exactly? I know what it is, I just can't seem to explain it."

"Some would call them "lesser gods"," Gandalf explained carelessly. "Allow me to stop you before we waste the day away. Is everyone satisfied with young Frodo's explanation?"

To Frodo's astonishment and utter satisfaction, the hobbits nodded.

"You believe me?" he breathed out, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

It was as though he was finally able to sleep after a long, exhausting day. Seeing Frodo barely able to keep his calm made something click in Merry. He was about to explain that nobody would make up a family tree like that so fast, but stopped himself.

"I owe you an apology, Frodo," Merry admitted. "Even if you had been wrong, I should've been more supportive. It must've been hard for you to feel so alone. What if I had never believed you at all because you weren't right? Then you would've felt like this all the time. It should've taken something else to get me to help you."

"It's all forgiven," Frodo said, with happy tears now falling freely from his eyes. "We'll go to Rivendell tomorrow, and then everything will be alright."

"Rivendell! To see the Elves!" Sam exclaimed.

"Please, don't faint," Frodo fretted, but even though he was worried, he still felt very, very happy.

"Who's fainting? I can slap it out of him!" Pippin called out.

"Don't be dense," Merry scolded.

Everything felt like a big fuzzy cloud, and the sun seemed to shine brighter than it had for days. There was still a voice in his head that was telling him to watch out for when things would inevitably go wrong, but for now, Frodo was able to ignore it. He couldn't see what could go wrong, and maybe nothing would.


	6. To Bilbo!

Frodo's hands were shaking as he tried to close down his travel-pack. He was so nervous and giddy that he had gone through several maps and notes Bilbo had left scattered in his book. It was dawn already, and he hadn't slept. Instead, he had gone back home to prepare everything he would need. His first thought had been for more water-bottles, because Sam and him never seemed to have enough space in theirs. Then he had packed a coil of rope, to bring it out triumphantly when Sam remembered he hadn't prepared any,just like Sam used to do to him. Now he was almost ready, if only he could close down the pack, which was almost impossible with these shaking hands of his.

Footsteps suddenly rang out in the hallway, and Frodo had the fright of his life when he saw his mother appear out of a room. He wasn't used to seeing her around. He had to make an effort to remember her name: Primula Brandybuck.

"What are you doing up, mom?" he asked shyly, because to him, she was almost a stranger.

His mother didn't answer.

"I had to knit," she explained in a voice that sounded like she was talking in her sleep.

Sleepwalking would have been a good word for it, except that her eyes were open, and blinking, too.

"Alright then. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I'll be gone for a few -- I don't know how long exactly. Don't, uh, don't look for me."

She didn't answer and waddled away. Finally, curiosity got the best of him and he stood up to follow her. She was still sitting in her chair, just like the last time he had seen her, and she was knitting something that didn't really look like anything except a purple mess of strings.

"Mom?" he asked.

Saying that word so many times in a day was definitely a new experience for him.

"Are you alright?" he pressed on. "You're starting to sound like Gandalf with how little you're talking," he joked, but she had no reaction.

Frodo let out an embarrassed sigh.

"Well, I packed some rope, so I hope you won't need any."

"Need to knit," Mrs Baggins repeated.

"Right. You do that."

He looked around, before deciding to give her a blanket, because the fire wasn't lit. He then kissed her on the forehead, packed his bag, then closed the door behind him.

"WHO'S UP EARLY?!" Pippin screamed from a bush.

"Good heavens!" Frodo let out when his heart stopped ramming into his chest.

"Sorry, Frodo. I'm just very excited. It's our first road-trip together!"

Frodo smiled indulgently.

"Where's everyone else?"

"I think they're already in Bag End," Pippin shrugged. "Merry's waiting by the cart."

"Alright, then. Let's go!"

This second cart-ride went more nicely than the first. Mostly, because Frodo still felt giddy from the previous day; and also because his friends were bombarding him with questions.

"So what happens to me in the future? How many kids will I have?" Pippin asked with a bright grin.

"I don't know how many, but Sam told me you wrote a genealogy book, I think. And you name one of your sons Faramir in honour of one of the friends we made. He was a captain, then the intendant to the King of Gondor, who is also one of our friends. Oh, and we were also friends with the king of Rohan -- both of them, actually, but mostly you, Merry. You served in the army as -- I can't remember what, but anyways, you became good friends with King Théoden, then with his successor, King Éomer. You were also friends with King Éomer's sister, Lady Éowyn, who was a brave, noble woman. You two killed the Witch-king together!"

Merry let out an impressed hum.

"Oh, and Pippin, you served in Gondor. I won't say much more: that story is... difficult to tell."

"I get the sad story? Boo," Pippin complained. "Why is it sad?"

"We lost a friend," Frodo admitted, and painful tears welled up in his eyes. "A member of the Fellowship. I don't like to think about it. He was a good friend."

He looked away at the road.

"Diamond of Long Cleeve!" he suddenly remembered. "That's the name of your wife, Pippin. And Sam's daughter Goldilocks married your son Faramir."

"What about me? Who do I get married to?" Merry enquired with an eager grin.

"Wait, Sam's married?" Pippin interrupted.

"Of course he is, to Rosie Cotton. They have…"

He counted on his fingers, mouthing names, until he got to little Tom.

"Thirteen children. No yet, but they will."

"Wow," Merry let out, shocked. "They sure love each other a lot. Or will love, or whatever it is."

Frodo smiled. It was sweet, regardless of his bitterness.

"They did. They still do, I'd wager, from wherever she is anyway. Oh, your wife's name is Estella, Merry."

"Estella," Merry mused. "What a beautiful name. I think I love her already."

Pippin punched him in the arm.

"You sap," he mocked.

"Oh, and here's the best part," Frodo interrupted enthusiastically. "You two went to see the Ents, and you drank Ent-draughts, and you grew to be four feet tall!"

He raised his hand up in the air to mime it, and turned to Pippin with a grimace.

"You'll be able to stop drinking milk," he cooed.

Merry exploded into laughter.

"Hey!" Pippin yelped.

"All the milk you drink and we still end up the same height," Merry went on.

"Ah, give him a break, lads," said the driver.

Frodo's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"Fatty Bolger?" he exclaimed, and he stretched his neck to peek at the driver's face.

There he was, Fredegar Bolger, their friend who had stayed behind to pretend to be Frodo and distract the Ringwraiths from the real one. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five, Frodo estimated; as a matter of fact, he was twenty-four.

"Me indeed, and I'll have you know that I'll remember everything you say about my sister, so choose your words wisely."

Frodo smiled and leaned on the back of Fatty's seat. He looked very big, and very happy, which, for a hobbit, was an obvious but still delightful combination.

"How have you been doing?" Frodo asked.

"Same as usual, really," Fatty answered nonchalantly. "Well, Merry here insisted I give you a ride to Bag End. Why you lot would need to travel at this hour of the day, that beats me. But I couldn't say no to him. Let me tell you, I was very close to after he started to knock on my door at this unholy hour like the whole world was on fire," he laughed.

"It's not my fault you sleep like a rock," Merry defended himself.

"In any case, Merry told me everything, which is why I agreed to get up without eating breakfast first. That, and he threatened to throw rocks next."

"Hey, it was necessary," Pippin exclaimed.

"Fine, fine. Now tell me: what's with all this marriage-talk?"

"Frodo's telling us what we're going to do later in life!" Pippin explained.

"Does she really marry you?" he commented. "Now, she's old enough to choose who she'll want to marry and all that, but still, I --"

"I don't know anything about that, Frodo brought it up. I barely know her, I swear," Merry scrambled to clarify.

Fatty shook his head, and as they turned towards Bag End, he let out a laugh.

"I'm just teasing you, Merry."

"You better be," Merry grumbled.

"I didn't even know you had a sister," Pippin added. "That sure is a lot less children than Sam's going to have."

Frodo nodded and dove back into his thoughts.

"I think you only have one child, Pippin. I can't remember any other names."

"What about me?" Fatty asked.

The cart was slowing down, but nobody made a move to get out yet.

"I can't say I remember," Frodo admitted.

"That's no trouble. It might not even happen a second time -- or at all, if this really is a time loop."

Frodo shrugged. Merry and Pippin jumped out of the cart, but he couldn't move yet.

"I missed you, Fatty. You didn't come with us last time around, but… will you today?"

Without answering, Fatty got out of the cart and helped Frodo exit it. Then he took a good look around the little dirt-roads and the round doors, before finally turning back to his friend with a sigh.

"I don't know if I should, Frodo. The Shire is my home, and I've never left it. All that I love is here -- everything and everyone. I don't think I need any adventures to be happy."

Frodo frowned. His heart was heavy, but he understood. He had felt the same way, a long time ago.

"I've come from a time in the far, far future when most of us are gone. If we say goodbye now, I don't think I'll ever see you again."

"It's alright with me, Frodo. You've always been a good friend of mine. I won't forget you, or any of us all, really, and I'm sure that when my memories of your lifetime come back to me, I'll only appreciate our friendship more. Now don't cry for me, Frodo. You still have a long road ahead of you."

Fredegar opened his arms, and Frodo hugged him tightly. Then Fatty got back in his cart, bid everyone farewell, and left.


	7. The strange truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang makes a pit stop at the Prancing Pony, where they will see some familiar faces.

Frodo had assumed that they were going to go straight to Rivendell, but Gandalf had other plans. The wizard's faithful little donkey drove them towards Bree, then, after everyone had gotten out of the cart, he went to the stables by himself. The night sky was clear and full of bright white stars that seemed to twirl and dance for some reason. After spending so much time cooped up in the cart, it was good to stretch your legs a little, especially in this very nice weather.

"We didn't take a cart last time," Frodo commented as he strapped his travel-pack back on.

"We don't need to rely on secrecy anymore," Gandalf answered. "Come now. It's time to meet Strider."

"But what about the Ringwraiths?" Frodo insisted as they reached the great gates.

"Hi! State your business, please!" said a voice coming from a little window.

"We're going to stay at the inn, of course," Gandalf explained to Harry.

"Harry the gate-man! And Nob and Bob! And Mr Butterbur!" Frodo exclaimed as he ran in front of the group to wave excitedly at the doorman. "Say, Gandalf, will you make his beers taste better again this time?"

"Gandalf! You should've just said so. No sense in letting perfectly fine folk dwell around at night," grumbled the gate-man before letting them in.

His friends gasped and oohed at the tall buildings, but Frodo didn't feel anything more than nostalgia. He had become used to feeling tiny in Valinor.

"Oh, and don't be scared, Sam. I've been on towers higher than this inn, and they haven't collapsed."

"You have?" echoed Sam in both awe and worry.

"I have indeed! And in any case, we have Gandalf with us. What could go wrong?"

Gandalf chose this exact moment to announce his departure, because he liked irony sometimes -- only in small doses, of course.

"Frodo, if you'd be so kind as to get us all rooms at the inn, please. I'm going to go fetch our friend."

"Where do you think he is?" Frodo asked curiously.

"Somewhere around town, probably. I'll have to take a good look around. I'll be back around midnight, so do try to keep your eyes open, or sleep lightly, if you must."

Off Gandalf went, his grey cloak fading in between everyone's dirt-colored clothes.

"Say, this town isn't very colourful," Pippin noticed. "Where are all the red and green and blue shirts?"

They had to step aside to let a horse pass. The rider gave them a sign, then they both disappeared into the crowd.

"I wonder if we'll be able to ride horses when we get taller," Merry said.

"You might," Frodo nodded. "Now let's go get rooms at the inn."

"Which one?" Sam finally thought to ask.

"The best one, of course: The Prancing Pony."

Frodo excitedly led them to the familiar wooden sign. It was creaking in the wind as it went back and forth in the air on its support. The hobbits stayed put a little while to admire the woodwork, then when Frodo had no patience left, he practically pushed everyone through the wooden doors.

Mr Butterbur waved them over from his place at the counter. Frodo gave him a wide smile and pit-pattered over to him.

"Six beds, please. We're still waiting for two of our friends. Uh, sign them off for Mr Baggins. They'll be there by midnight."

He almost gave him his fake name by mistake. At least, this time, he wouldn't have to feel guilty about lying to those nice hobbits at the bar who had thought he was a distant cousin.

"It's as good as done, little master! Now, we offer rooms designed specifically for Little People. Will you be taking one of those?"

He remembered all the times Gandalf had smacked into the chandelier back home. Sharing a room with him and Strider seemed like a poor idea.

"I suppose we'll be taking two -- one of each kind?"

"Perfect choice, little master. Now, I'll show you to your rooms. Here is the key."

Frodo stretched out his hand to take the heavy key. He felt very ridiculous, standing like this in the deep silence of the hallway. Even as they headed out to their room, their host didn't add anything, which, to Frodo, rang out as odd. He remembered how Mr Butterbur had talked and talked and talked the first time around. It was quite sad to see him so quiet, so he decided to give him a little push.

"Tonight seems to be a quiet night," Frodo commented.

"It's all quiet nights and slow mornings these days," Butterbur agreed. "Folks aren't very talkative, but that's alright, too. You won't see me complaining about it. Giving everyone a cozy room and a warm meal, that's my policy. That, and it gives me time to do other things. It's nice to have a bit of silence every now and again. Well! Your room awaits you, little masters. I hope you find it to your liking."

"Thank you, Mr Butterbur. Good evening to you and Nob and Bob -- oh, how have they been doing?"

Mr Butterbur's eyes opened. He seemed pleasantly surprised by the conversation he was being offered. He waltzed into the room and went to sit on one of the armchairs. Merry had already claimed the other one, and Pippin was sitting on its foot-cushion. Sam was warily eyeing the strange furniture, until he noticed Frodo was sitting on the ground; and then, in a moment of proper Sam-ness, he went to sit next to him.

"Well, to tell you the truth, Mr Baggins, old Nob hasn't been the same lately. It's like there's something evil in the air somehow. Nobody's really been the same, that's for sure. Nob keeps cleaning the stables, and if I tell him to leave it and get to some other task, well, it's like he doesn't even realize I'm there. Keeps talking about cleaning the saddle -- repeating it over and over again until it drives you mad."

Sam looked down at his feet in quiet horror, before saying something in a very small voice that Frodo had to stretch his ear to hear.

"My Gaffer's been the same way. It properly troubled me, and so I went to live in Mr Bilbo's house. But I couldn't forget his eyes. Blind and confused they seemed. I don't think I'll ever get that memory out of me, and that's the truth."

Frodo wanted to reach out to comfort him, but he didn't.

"My mother's been that way too. She keeps on talking about needing to knit. I wasn't particularly inclined to go back home after seeing her like that."

That, and he hadn't seen her since that fateful day Primula had gone boating with Drogo. He had only been twelve then. All his memories of her were fuzzy -- it had been hundreds of years since he had seen her face, before his time problem, that is. He wasn't sure he wanted to go back to talk to her and miss yet another person when he would go home.

"What about Bob?" Frodo fretted.

"Ah, Bob's gone back home. I'm not sure what that was about, but I'm not going to have another one of those one-sided conversations with him, that's for sure. I haven't tried, but you can never be too careful these days."

Pippin sat up straighter on his cushion, his eyes clouded with worry.

"We haven't been in the Shire for a few weeks. Do you think everyone's doing alright?"

"I'm just hoping nobody's turned into an empty, walking corpse," Merry answered.

The wording made Frodo's stomach clench. Horror was seeping into him like cold water. Pippin gulped like he was feeling nauseous, and Merry patted him on the back.

"Sorry, Pip. Come on, everything will be fine. Right, Frodo?"

"Right. Gandalf will figure something out. And if he doesn't, then we will."

Surprisingly enough, Frodo was feeling fully confident in his answer. He knew his friends were a capable bunch of hobbits, and he himself had learned many things over his years in Valinor.

"Gandalf?" Butterbur echoed. "Gandalf!" he repeated in delight. "Well then, all our worries are useless. He's a proper wizard, that man. Well, then, I'll bid you goodnight now, and go back to my post. There aren't many customers these days, but the Pony is always open for guests, that's what I always say. I should have known you were his friends. You have a certain air about you I can't place, Mr Baggins. All of you are properly excellent hobbits, I'll say. Now enjoy your room, and we'll wake you if your other friends come! And by that, I mean I will, because I have a lot of things to do by myself these days. It's lonely, is what it is. Good-bye, now!"

"It'll all turn right in the end. I know it will," Frodo repeated after Mr Butterbur had closed the door on them.

Sam seemed to share Frodo's optimism, and he nodded.

"I agree with you there, Mr Frodo. We have a wizard with us, and that doesn't count for nothing; and we have you. You've been the ringbearer once. That makes you something of a hero yourself."

Frodo hid his face in his hands, embarrassed by their praise.

"Not just something! You're a proper hero, is what you are!" Pippin added. "Nothing's going to happen to us with you here."

"You're all heroes, really," Frodo protested between his fingers. "I was just the one who carried the Ring. And besides, Sam carried it for a while. I couldn't have done it without him -- or without any of you."


	8. Aragorn doing his job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandd goes to fetch Aragorn while Frodo and Sam have a drink at the bar.

"Can we get some sleep, now? It's been a long day, and I'm exhausted," Pippin grumbled.

"I'll stay awake for a while," Frodo said. "I need to think."

"I'll stay with you," Sam immediately added. "Two heads are better than one, as they say."

Frodo smiled at his friend, then bid goodnight to Merry and Pippin, who were arguing about who got which bed. Sam and Frodo exchanged a smile at the sight of their friendly fighting, which was certainly less draining than their previous conversation.

"There's a bar on the other side of the building. We could go there, if you want to? It would be more quiet --"

Frodo stopped talking, because Merry and Pippin had stopped arguing and were making faces at him behind Sam's back.

"And I still haven't told you about Rosie," he added loudly.

"Farmer Cotton's daughter? Why? Is she doing alright?" Sam said in confusion as Frodo led him out of the room.

"Oh, I'm sure she's doing alright. Well, in my time, you end up marrying her, that's all. Now, guess how many children you'll have."

Sam's eyes widened and he turned a bright shade of red.

"Children? Now, I don't know -- three?"

"You're short of ten, my dear Sam. Thirteen children is how many you and Rosie will have together. And your daughter Goldilocks ends up marrying Pippin's son Faramir."

"Faramir? That's a strange name," Sam noted, because he didn't know what else to say after what he had just heard.

They sat at the bar, after managing to haul themselves up on the stools. Frodo was about to tell Sam all about the names they'd all brought back -- like his daughter Elanor, named after those lovely flowers in Lothlorien -- but Sam cut him off.

"Thirteen? Wow," he echoed. "Thirteen children with Rosie Cotton. Well, I'll be a frog in a wizard's hat if I ever saw this coming."

He grinned to himself as he ordered a pint of whatever -- that Frodo also ordered absent-mindedly. He couldn't keep his eyes off Sam.

"And do you -- do we have a good life? I mean, are we happy together, Rosie and I? Thirteen children," he repeated, shaking his head.

Frodo gave him a smile. He wanted to hold Sam's hand.

"Of course you are, Sam. I'm sure she was very happy with you. And you loved her a lot, too, because even years after she died, you still wore your wedding ring."

Then he looked away and tried to focus on anything else, because he had just realized that despite their conversation, he wanted to kiss Sam, which was a terrible idea.Why was he even thinking about this? Perhaps he was imagining a life where he had married Sam instead.

It would be so easy to turn around and hold his face and -- he stopped himself and gulped down his -- was it beer? 

"What is this?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

Frodo smiled despite himself and leaned on the counter.

"Well, I was too busy listening and I seem to have simply ordered 'another one'."

Sam smiled back -- a wide, warm smile that had Frodo slap himself mentally again.

"It's just beer, Mr Frodo. You said it was good, or would be, so I thought I would give it a try"

Frodo felt a smile light up his face. Only then did he realize how quiet the inn was. There were only a few guests -- the group of hobbits and a few Men here and there that didn't talk to each other and didn't seem to care about what they were drinking. It was nothing like his previous visits. The Prancing Pony had always been a joyful place.

"I have an idea," Frodo suddenly said, turning to Sam with a grin. "Let's see now, how does the song go?"

He stood up on a table, before realizing how ridiculous he looked. But it was too late to turn back now. Guests were already turning around to look at him.

"Would anyone care for a song from the Shire?" he let out in a little voice. 

"Long live the Shire!" one of the hobbits exclaimed.

"Shire!" another hobbit said sleepily.

"Is it any good?" said that horseman from before.

"Yes, the Shire is very good," the second hobbit confirmed.

"He wasn't talking to you," replied the first one. "He's talking to that lad over there."

"Is it?" the horseman insisted.

Frodo remembered the applause he had gotten, and nodded in something that could almost be called pride, was he not too embarrassed to feel anything other than nervousness.

"Let's hear it, then," the horseman shrugged.

Frodo took a deep breath. He still remembered the words, of course, since it was one of Bilbo's songs. He sang the first few lines, and found that the melody was coming back to him, along with the memories of cheering and falling off the table in the worst luck possible.

There is an inn, a merry old inn  
beneath an old grey hill,  
And there they brew a beer so brown  
That the Man in the Moon himself came down  
one night to drink his fill

At first, nobody did anything, but then, Sam, who had at first only felt surprise at hearing his friend sing, jumped up on the table next to him.

"What are you doing?" Frodo let out.

"You can't just dance alone on that table, Mr Frodo. Now, I don't know the words as well as you do, but I'll try to sing along."

They shared a smile, and then someone screamed "Finish the song!" and Frodo started to sing again. This time, nobody jumped and accidentally put on the Ring, but instead, they did an improvised little jig together. To Frodo's delight and surprise, Sam started to sing too. Then Mr Butterbur appeared, and he started to laugh; and as though they had all woken up from a trance, everyone started to clap and say things like "Let's hear it for the Shire!".

"Why's the Sun a she, I wonder?" the third hobbit pondered.

"It's elven, that's why," the horseman answered. "Elves are strange folk."

"Elves! Elves! Elves!" the second hobbit chanted.

"Can we hear it again? I didn't hear anything," the first hobbit complained. "Mr Mugwort here's drinking was too loud."

The fourth hobbit raised his mug and said something that probably meant "let's hear it for the Shire," except it didn't sound like that at all, and more like a gurgle.

"You'll have to come again sometime," Mr Butterbur said as Frodo and Sam got down from the table and were climbing up their stools. "Folks don't get roused like that enough these days. I reckon they liked the song. Mighty good hobbits you are, little masters. I wouldn't say no to having you both here permanently."

Frodo felt properly pleased that Mr Mugwort hadn't started to mistrust him this time around, or that the Southron (that he had finally recognized as being that horseman from before) wasn't as squinty-eyed as he was tired-looking. Then again, even Harry the gate-man had seemed more polite than before. Maybe something good came out of his trip to the past.

But regardless of all that, his chief worry was whether Sam had enjoyed himself. Sam took a sip of his drink, before turning back to Frodo with a smile that made his stomach flutter.

"I didn't think I would sing any songs on any tables tonight, that's for sure," Sam laughed. "Maybe I should do it more often, because I reckon I enjoyed myself. That was one of Mr Bilbo's songs, wasn't it?"

Frodo nodded. Sam's happiness was radiant, and he felt content, as though he had just had a warm meal after a hard day of work and was settling down for well-deserved rest. That was always how Sam made him feel: comforted and at ease. He eventually remembered that he couldn't just sit there smiling like that: he had to answer something.

"He used to sing it sometimes. It never failed to cheer me up."

Sam nodded and took another sip, before turning to face him completely. He seemed thoughtful.

"You know, I've been telling myself that you look pretty familiar. It feels like no matter what you say, I can anticipate it. Isn't that the strangest feeling? Out of all the things that have been bugging me lately, I keep coming back to this one."

"Is that so bad?" Frodo said softly.

Sam thought about it, then shook his head.

"It's always been that way for me," Frodo admitted.

He felt nostalgia take over his mind.

"In my time, we've been friends for a very long time. Almost all our lives, I think. Your father was my uncle Bilbo's gardener, and when he retired, you took his place. I went to live with Bilbo after my mother and father died, and -- well, that's all there is to say about it, I suppose."

"I see you two have taken my advice seriously," Gandalf's voice suddenly boomed from behind them. "Although I feel like we would do better without the beer. We'll need clear heads tonight."

Sam was very startled and almost fell off his chair. Frodo had to catch the poor hobbit before he smashed his face on the wooden planks where a couple of splinters would have definitely left a mark.

"Now, why --" Frodo started, turning around to frown at their interrupting companion.

As he sat straighter, he noticed that someone else had had the same protective reflex and was now hovering behind them with an arm still raised. Frodo would recognize him anywhere -- especially after having been forced to hear about how tall and kingly he looked by his wife for so long. In his surprise, he forgot his irritation in being interrupted and opened his arms joyfully.

"Strider!" Frodo exclaimed.

At this, Mr Butterbur sneaked a mistrustful glance towards them. Frodo ignored him.

"How nice of you to stop by! I was looking forward to seeing you again. How are Lord Elrond and Queen Arwen?"

Aragorn sneaked a glance towards Gandalf that everyone saw anyway, because he had to turn his head to see something beyond his hood.

"I see you haven't been lying," Aragorn commented.

"Of course I haven't been lying," Gandalf grumbled.

"Maybe we ought to talk somewhere more private, then."

"We had a room prepared for you two," Frodo remembered. "We could go there. I wouldn't want to disturb our friends."

"Wake them," Gandalf insisted. "We will be explaining things they need to hear. Quickly, now. We will be leaving at the crack of dawn."

"I thought we wouldn't need any more secrecy," Sam grumbled.

"There is a good deal of difference between going in secret and setting out early. Now go, before we waste the night away."

Frodo and Sam backtracked to their room. Upon opening the door, they saw that their friends were quietly asleep in the armchair. 

"Merry, Pippin," Frodo said gently. "Gandalf is back, and he has news."

Merry opened his eyes, then roused Pippin, who only snuggled more into the cushions. Merry shrugged and went back to sleep, too.

"He also brought a friend of his," Sam said suspiciously.

Aragorn nodded gravely, in proper Aragorn-fashion, and went to sit on the ground. 

"My name is --"

"Allow me," Frodo cut him. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn and Gilraen, future King of Gondor, and most of all, a fine friend and a brave companion. But we usually call him Strider."

Aragorn smiled. Whenever he smiled, it seemed like the brave smile of a weary soul who wanted to sleep but could only walk on. That's how Frodo described it to himself. The only time he had seen Strider look truly happy was at his wedding, or perhaps in Rivendell, when he was talking to Arwen. When they were together, he seemed giddier than usual, as though he was trying to properly express his love. It wasn't quite the right way to put it, but anything concerning people as old as they were was usually too complex to be explained in a few words. Imagine a man who had the weight of the world on his shoulders and wasn't sure if he could handle it, or if he even wanted to, and there you had it.

In any case, this wasn't one of these smiles. He looked almost genuinely happy.

"I suppose you're Frodo, then," he guessed. "Frodo, son of Bilbo?" he added, because he was trying to be nice and he had no idea what else to add.

"Actually, it's -- no, you're right, I just never thought of it like that. It's been too long, Strider. I suppose you don't remember any of us, then?"

Aragorn shook his head.

"You all look familiar to me, but I can't say when or where I've seen you before. Gandalf told me that you could need my help, which is why I came in such haste, but I think it's time we had had proper answers."

He turned to Gandalf, who did nothing except light up his pipe. After a few seconds of staring, Aragorn looked back at the hobbits. In a moment of Arwen-like description, he realized that Aragorn looked younger and more innocent now than he'd looked during their adventures. He seemed noticeably more eager to please, and his eyes were brighter and less -- then Frodo stopped himself before his description-making became worthy of the Red Book of Westmarch. He did not enjoy reading back these parts, that's the least we can say.

"We could start by talking about who you are, and why you know so much."

Frodo sat down in front of his friend, under Sam's watchful eye.

"I'm the old ringbearer. I'm from a future where we won the war and I went to live in Valinor -- the Undying Lands as you might know them as. There isn't much to say except for that. I don't know how I managed to come back here, but I did notice some strange things. For one, my mother is alive, but not my father -- and she's different. That's one way to say it, of course -- it's like she's asleep, and her speech is difficult."

"The ringbearer?" Aragorn echoed. "So you found the Ring? And where was it, may I ask?"

"My uncle found it with a creature named Gollum, hidden in a mountain infested by goblins."

"He means Orcs," Gandalf translated.

Aragorn nodded pensively.

"Of course. It's a good bit of luck that allowed good people to find it in time. I suppose good luck was on our side the whole time if we managed to destroy it."

"Luck, and bravery," Gandalf added.

"Mostly luck," Frodo estimated.

Gandalf squinted at him.

"If it had only been a matter of luck, throwing the Ring into wild nature and hoping for it to get to Mordor by sheer coincidence would have been a good option."

"And if it had been only a matter of bravery, we would've been able to lead an army into Mordor, or we would have asked the Eagles to bring it for us into Mount Doom."

"I believe you're talking about the secrecy we needed for the mission to be a success," Gandalf said. "And the Eagles answer to no one but their master. I was lucky to get their help as many times as I did."

"Excuse me," Aragorn interrupted. "Was everyone also acting strangely back in your time?"

"You mean, looking asleep but being awake? No, that's new. I could've done without it, too."

"I was fighting an Orc over by the borders of the Shire when Gandalf came to fetch me. Fighting might not be the right word. It seemed to me like he was caught up in a violent dream," Aragorn admitted. "I thought it might be some new magic He conjured, or perhaps a new, cursed effect of the Ring on people. Tell me, who's carrying it now?"

"Should we be talking about this?" Sam chipped in. "We have more pressing matters at hand -- like destroying the cursed thing, that's one, or figuring out how to help those poor folks we've been seeing all around town. It's not natural, what's happening to them. I say we get to Rivendell fast and ask Lord Elrond about it."

Gandalf stood up and brushed his hat before putting it on.

"You're right, Mr Gamgee. But remember this: we have no guarantee that anyone might be there to welcome us, be it old Bilbo, Lord Elrond himself, or the Lady Arwen."

At the mention of his betrothed in such a sentence, Aragorn's face darkened.

"But don't go looking so sad already! It's a possibility, and we have a long road ahead of us before we can be sure. So do try to look happy while you can -- and wake up these two before I decide to leave them behind."


	9. Cart-ride to Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes have a chat as the donkey drives then to Rivendell.

The matter of waking Merry and Pippin ended with Gandalf carrying the both of them to his little cart like sleeping children. He gently set them down in the back of it. Frodo had never seen Gandalf as a nurturing person before, but he had to admit that there was something fatherly about him that came out sometimes when the occasion arose, or when he particularly missed someone.

That excellent little donkey was already waiting by the cart, and Frodo was convinced that he would have put on his travel-gear himself if he had hands to strap it on. Sam especially seemed to take a liking to him. He was petting him and murmuring kind words in his little ear while everyone was getting ready to go.

The current problem was that there wasn't enough space in the cart for everyone, to which Gandalf decided they would just have to endure it until they could loan a better cart in Rivendell. Gandalf sat in the driver's seat, with Aragorn at his side; and the hobbits all squashed themselves one against the other in the area that was normally used for packed goods, which they were in fact sitting on.

This part of the trip went well regardless of the seating arrangements. Everyone dozed in and off of sleep, except Frodo, who was too busy trying to catch glimpses of Aragorn and Gandalf's whispered conversation. Unfortunately, it proved to be simple news-sharing and not some big piece of information that Gandalf was refusing to share.

"I dearly hope the lady will still be awake," Aragorn was saying. "I can't seem to take her off my mind."

"And you shouldn't," said Gandalf. "It's a fiancé's job to worry about his bethrothed. Luckily for you, I have a little bit of knowledge on the problem at hand, and I can assure you that the Lady Arwen will be safe and sound when we reach Rivendell."

Aragorn groaned.

"I wish you would tell me more than that."

"I did not know you to be an impatient man, Aragorn son of Arathorn. Be soothed! This matter lies in bigger hands than yours. There is no sense in worrying about it."

"Right. I will defer to your wisdom once more, old friend."

"You say 'old friend'," Frodo interrupted from behind them, "but I seem to remember that my dear uncle was born before even Strider's mother, meaning Gandalf and him have been friends for longer."

"That's impossible," Aragorn protested. "That would make your uncle --"

"One hundred and fourteen years old indeed. And you're barely seventy-three."

"A respectable age for a Man," Aragorn commented.

"For a hobbit, too, but the truth remains that uncle Bilbo has been Gandalf's friend longer. We should give him the title."

He raised his chin in defiance, but soon forgot his irritation and propped himself up on a bag to be at eye-level with his friends.

"I'm sure Arwen will be alright. Don't worry about it. Most of our friends are doing good, too: Fatty Bolger, and Mr Butterbur, and there was that horseman, and Harry at the gate… I'm sure she'll be fine."

"You have a fair dose of optimism, Mr Baggins, and I have to say I'm impressed, but I'll remain unsettled until we reach Rivendell, if you'll let me. Tell me now, is your uncle Bilbo by chance a poem-writer?"

Frodo smiled happily. He was glad his friend was catching on.

"He is! He also calls you Dúnadan, and he wrote this song about a Man, I think, and you wanted to add something about a green gem on a man's forehead for some reason. I can't remember much about it."

"The Dúnadan, yes. It seems this world is smaller than we think it is."

"WAIT A SECOND," Frodo suddenly exclaimed, and in his excitement, he almost shoved his hand in Aragorn's face. "Ëarendil and Elwing -- these are -- wait a second, let me remember."

He racked his brain in search of answers.

"Elwing is the daugther of Dior, who is the son of Luthien -- and Ëarendil is her husband. And their sons are Elrond and Elros, who is the first king of Númenor! Now I see why this poem was so important to you. Bilbo was telling the tale of your people!"

Aragorn's face was split up by a smile.

"It might have taken me a long time to figure it out, but in my defense, I'll have you know that Queen -- I mean the Lady Arwen talked enough about you to last me a lifetime."

"I can only wonder what happened to make you so irritated," Aragorn said, looking very amused.

Frodo grumbled even more as he tried to prop himself on the bag he was sitting on to be able to properly see Strider's face. He didn't notice Sam's eyes opening.

"Well, see now, it was at your wedding -- it was a very beautiful one, might I add, with flowers and songs and all that. Now, we were all staying in Gondor for a while, the lot of us, so I decided I could help provide entertainment for a little while. I started to read from the book of memoirs I had been writing. In came the happy couple, and you listened in silence for a while, but then… Well, I don't like to speak badly of such a nice lady, but I will say that I was very annoyed. Can you blame me? I was reaching the part where we left Lothlorien, and Galadriel gave you a brooch -- and Lady Arwen pestered me with details on your majesty and beauty until I had no choice but to write a few to satisfy her."

Aragorn was laughing quietly to himself, looking very pleased, which only irritated Frodo more.

"Mark my words, it was a nightmare!"

This only made Strider laugh more. Then Sam's head popped out of the darkness.

"Mr Frodo, I don't mean to be rude, but I noticed that you've been talking about everyone's weddings -- which is all right and proper, of course, but, well, what about your own?"

They were interrupted by Gandalf's snoring. Despite being the driver, he was also sleeping, which, in truth, worried nobody, as the little donkey seemed to know where he was going.

"That's not rude at all, Sam -- but to answer your question, I didn't get married, that's all," Frodo said.

"Oh. Well, as long as you were happy," Sam commented.

He found that he didn't want to lie to Sam.

"Nothing was the same after we came back," Frodo admitted. "I still miss the times before the quest sometimes. During our quest, I used to think about how no matter what happened to us, the Shire would still be the same peaceful place it had always been -- but then we came back and Saruman had taken over the place, and hobbits were in jail, or dead, or both. It's lucky we came back when we did -- but regardless of it getting fixed, things changed. You got married, uncle Bilbo stayed in Rivendell, and my shoulder started to hurt more and more badly... It's strange, now that I think about it: I used to wish the Ring had never come to me, but now that it hasn't, I still went ahead and looked for it."

Frodo stopped talking when he noticed that everyone looked upset. He didn't want to worry them, so he backtracked.

"I suppose the lack of sleep has deteriorated my mood," Frodo apologized. "I should remedy that."

Sadly, that didn't work out. When Frodo decided he was done trying to sleep, he stood up and took a look around the cart. It was still night, but Sam had gone back to sleep. Frodo smiled at the sight, and gently tucked him back into the blanket that had slipped away. The only other companion who was still awake (except the donkey) was Aragorn. He was laying back on his seat and looking at the stars.

"I would smoke if I could, but I didn't want to bother the little one," he said upon noticing that Frodo was awake.

"I'm sure Merry will appreciate that more than Pippin will," Frodo joked.

Strider smiled. It seemed that he was taking a liking to everyone. That was good, Frodo thought.

"Brothers, are they?"

Frodo looked behind him where they were snuggled together, with Pippin's tiny little hand grabbing Merry's like it was of some comfort to him, and Merry holding his friend protectively to shield him from the night air and the erratic movements of the cart.

"Not by blood, but by spirit," he agreed. "They grew up together."

"I had been wondering why you were travelling with a child. I suppose it's fair to guess that Pippin didn't want to be left behind. He must be a brave boy."

"Last time around, he was twenty-nine, but Lord Elrond still had the same doubts you had. You're right, anyway: Pippin didn't want to be left behind this time, too. That, and I didn't have the heart to leave him all alone in the Shire. He would have followed the cart anyway, like he threatened to do last time if Lord Elrond didn't assign him to the mission."

Aragorn smiled.

"Brave indeed."

Frodo nodded. He looked back at his friends: Sam, and Merry, and Pippin, all peacefully snoring in the warm night air.

"They're all like family to me, you know."

"It's good for a ringbearer not to be alone," Aragorn commented.

Frodo sighed and laid his head on the cart-wall.

"You're right."

He took a moment to listen to the whisper of the wind in the trees. It sounded just like it always had, which at the moment made Frodo more sad than happy.

"Back in my time, they've been dead for a long time. You too. I mean -- you had a long, fulfilling life, as they had, but, see, I went to live in Valinor and I never saw them again or heard any news of them until Sam came to join me. It's strange to think that this young boy that's sleeping so soundly will die before I do. I don't even know if I will die, really, or if I'll become a bit like the Elves are. Seeing them now is both joyful and incredibly sad. See, I never thought I'd see them again except in my dreams. But here they are, alive and in the flesh -- and I don't even know how long I have with them."

"Do you regret going to live there?" Aragorn asked softly.

Frodo's first idea was to say no, but then he realized that it might not be completely true. And by "not completely true," he meant that he had spent long nights in Valinor crying when he had learned of another one passing away.

"Somewhat. It's like nowhere suits me properly if I'm not with my friends. After Gandalf passed, we couldn't even enjoy Lothlorien, and that's saying a lot."

Aragorn went stiff.

"Gandalf passed?" Aragorn repeated in a quiet voice.

"He came back afterward," Frodo scrambled to add. "It was a noble death. He died fighting a Balrog to protect the Fellowship."

Aragorn nodded, but added nothing. It was like he was grieving, even though Gandalf was right next to them and couldn't look more alive. It made sense, Frodo thought. He would be horrified, too, if someone had told him something like that.

"Do you know of any way we could make sure it doesn't happen again?" Aragorn eventually said. "Are there any weapons you know of that we could use? We should regroup with the rest of the Fellowship you speak of and devise a plan to rid the earth of this devilry."

"Well, he was fighting it alone -- you and Boromir wanted to help, but he ordered you to go and protect the rest of us. Maybe if we had had more wizards or something. Or one of those big rock-throwers the goblins -- I mean Orcs -- used."

"There are seven wizards in the White Council, if I remember correctly. Perhaps they would agree to help -- or some of them would, at least. I hear Radagast the Brown is a helpful man."

"We shouldn't worry about such things at such an hour," Frodo said, mainly because his eyes were hurting from squinting so much. "You should get some sleep, Strider, while our worries are still only in our heads and not right in front of us."

"It's never unwise to prepare," Aragorn said, "but perhaps you are right. Sleep is a gift we mustn't forget."

The Ranger yawned.

"Goodnight, then, Mr Baggins."

"Just call me Frodo," he pressed. "Mr Baggins is my uncle."

Aragorn laid back in his seat, and Frodo sat back down on his bag. He could feel Sam's warmth beside him. Time seemed to pass and not pass at the same time in peaceful near-silence until Aragorn's shout woke up everyone.

"Arwen!" he cried, and jumped out of the cart.

"Estel!" came the Lady's answering shout.

Aragorn ran all the way to where Arwen was, or had been, since she was now running towards him as well. They met halfway and held each other tightly. The silver lantern the Lady was holding lit up their relieved faces. Then Frodo saw no more, because he was looking away. He felt like he had stumbled upon a private meeting.

"I feared for you," Aragorn whispered.

"As did I," Arwen answered. "Something strange is happening, and my father is not well."


	10. Gandalf explains the situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the truth is about to be told

"Go on ahead, I'll take care of the cart," Frodo suggested.

"Meet us in the council room," Gandalf ordered, and he too jumped off into the dirt road.

Soon, the three of them had disappeared, leaving Frodo to drive the cart to the stables in worried silence.

"I think I missed something. Why did Gandalf and Strider leave?" Merry protested.

"Something's wrong with Lord Elrond," Frodo explained. "Gandalf and Strider have gone to help. We'll meet them in a little while."

"Is there something we can do?" Sam let out.

"I don't think so," Frodo answered sadly. "We can only wait."

And so wait they did. As they unstrapped the donkey and started to wonder where the stables were, the faithful beast gave them a look and walked off by itself. Sam took off with it, and the rest followed more hesitantly.

As they went on in eerie silence, they started to walk closer and closer. Everywhere they looked, they saw Elves doing things that seemed normal at first, but their eyes looked dull and empty. A smith had been polishing the same sword since they arrived. At some point, the sword broke, sending sharp bits of it flying everywhere, but the smith didn't seem to care. He only picked up a new one and started again. A man was sitting in the stables and was cleaning a rotten apple that looked like it had been sanded. A woman by the hill sang the same song over and over again -- they could barely hear her, but it still sent shivers down their spines.

The hobbits (especially Sam) felt reluctant to leave the little donkey all alone in this strange scene -- especially since there were no horses anywhere, and the food-bowls were all empty -- but after a little while, they decided that he was in no danger and they would simply pick him up after their business was done. Maybe he would even show up all by himself again.

"I don't like this," Pippin said in a small voice as they passed by the smith again. "Hullo, sir! Your sword's broken!"

"I need to polish it," the elven-smith answered tone-deafeningly.

Pippin grabbed Merry's hand in fear.

"It's no use," Sam said. "My Gaffer wouldn't listen to reason either."

"I preferred the inn. At least, when there's nobody around, we don't need to see them like that. It's sad, is what it is," Merry said.

"Let's get back to the others," Frodo suggested. "Hopefully, the council room is empty."

The four little hobbits walked in a close line all the way to the entrance hall. It was as beautiful as ever, but the silence felt wrong. There were no bird-calls, or squirrels in the trees. There was just the wind, and the cracking of branches on the roof. Then suddenly, there were footsteps. Frodo tensed up, already horrified, and turned around.

"Uncle Bilbo!" he shouted. "I'm so glad to see you here!"

"Mr Baggins! What a relief!" Sam added.

He looked a lot younger than he did in Frodo's time, but it was Bilbo alright, with his bright eye and his walking stick.

"Hullo, Sam and Sam's friends!" Bilbo called out to them. "What are you all doing in Rivendell? Has Gandalf roped you into an adventure?"

"Actually, Frodo did," Merry corrected.

Bilbo nodded, and as they finally reached each other, the worry in his face became obvious.

"Well then, I hope you know what you're doing. This is no time to be having adventures."

"Do you know what happened to Lord Elrond?" Sam asked.

"The same thing that's been happening all around town, I'm afraid. He hasn't moved from his chair in days, and he won't get up to eat. The lady Arwen hasn't had word of her brothers in weeks, and she's very worried. It's good you came by when you did."

Bilbo shook his head and pointed towards the great stairs with his walking-stick.

"I'll show you the way. I think Gandalf was headed towards the council room."

And so they climbed the white stairs with Bilbo at their head, and Frodo at their tail. Frodo was starting to feel hopeless again that anyone would recognize him. If anyone should have known him, it was Bilbo. He had adopted him when Frodo was twenty-one, and from then on to their trip to Valinor, they had always been close. But Frodo didn't bother dwelling in happy memories. It wasn't the right time. Already they were reaching the meeting-point, and they could hear Aragorn and Arwen speaking in quiet voices next to a pillar. When they saw the five of them approach, they waved at them, but their faces were grave, and they were holding hands.

"Welcome to Rivendell," Arwen greeted them in her soft voice. "I wish we could have met under different circumstances. Come with me. Mithrandir is waiting inside."

"That's what some people call Gandalf," Frodo explained before Sam could open his mouth.

Sam smiled at him, which made Frodo turn pink. Bilbo noticed it, and for a second, he looked like he wanted to tease him about it, but then looked confused, as though he didn't know where the idea came from.

They finally went to sit on chairs too big for them next to Gandalf. He was sitting next to Elrond, who was filling a paper that was almost black with ink. Arwen went to him and changed the paper to a new one, then kissed his forehead and went back to sit with her betrothed. Frodo was suddenly struck by the realization that she was dead in his time, that Elrond had lost both his daughter and his wife.

Perhaps there was something he would be able to do to help, but Gandalf didn't let him think about it for long.

"Welcome to this emergency council meeting," he said, because formalities were formalities. "If you'll all sit down, please. We have much to discuss."

Frodo exchanged a look with Sam, and they held hands under the table. Then Pippin took his hand, and Merry's, until the four little hobbits were holding hands together.

"We have all heard the tales, or lived through them. Isildur's Bane, perhaps, you know it as, or recognize it as the Dark Lord's chief weapon in his plans. We thought it destroyed, or lost, but it is here in this very room. Master Samwise, if you would kindly lend me the Ring, please."

Frodo's eyes snapped open. He stared in horror as Sam took out the envelope and gave it to Gandalf without a second thought. Gandalf opened it, and stared through its hole.

"This is the One Ring," Gandalf explained. "Peregrin, hold this for a second."

Pippin extended his hand like he was being given candy. The Ring fell in his palm with a dull noise.

"Am I the chosen one now?" Pippin chattered, then he grimaced. "Hm. It's not very pretty."

"Thank you, dear boy. I'll take it from here."

Pippin gave it back with a shrug. Gandalf held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, then held it between his thumb and forefinger. He pressed down and the Ring bent like it was made of rubber.

"It's rubbish," Gandalf commented, before tossing it over his shoulder into the fire. "Fire still won't melt it down, but the markings will appear."

He picked up the Ring with one of the fireplace tools and held it up into the light.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,  
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,  
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,  
One for the Dark Lord in his dark throne  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.  
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,  
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them  
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

The words still shook Frodo to his core in remembrance of the horrors of the war, but he had to admit that they looked less threatening after Gandalf's little demonstration.

"Do you see now, Frodo?" Gandalf said. "The Ring's powers are null. A shadow of the real one. Not even the Nine want it -- and I doubt they are even awake."

"Where is the real Ring, then?" Aragorn asked.

"This is the real Ring, my friend. Or what we have left of it. The real one was destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom approximately two hundred and fifty years ago. No dream could ever hope to reproduce its nature. This ring should have the power to corrupt the mind and steer the body towards its dark master."

"Why isn't it doing that, then?" Frodo asked, in equal parts confused and afraid.

"Because this is a dream, dear Frodo. Yet I will not say "nothing but a dream," as it is not so, but I will need to tell you the full tale for you to understand.

"In a time between a long time ago and not so long ago, a little hobbit found himself wishing that he could see the friends he loved once more. He dreamed and dreamed about them, until Irmo, the master of Dreams, took notice of it. He decided to send the little hobbit on a quest to retrieve his friends and prove he was worthy of entering the halls of Mandos to see the real ones.

"You might have noticed that sleep comes rarely to you, if ever at all. Perhaps things have seemed unreal, or time has passed in strange ways. Dear Frodo, this is not a repetition of your quest to destroy the Ring. This is something you need to do for yourself. It is a mercy from the Valar, and I suggest you take it. Not often do they offer a second chance.

"The extent of my knowledge stops there, but I can also tell you this: your friends are alive. Their souls have been fished out of the Halls of the Dead. Those who are awake now might be awoken for good when you reach Valinor again, or perhaps they will not be. I have not been informed of every detail, but I assure you, these are your friends -- the real ones."

"So I haven't gone back in time?" Frodo stammered.

"No indeed, dear friend. Not often does Vairë change her mind. She always moves forward, and so do we."

"I think I need some -- well, I suppose I can't sleep anymore. But I would love to have somewhere private where I could think about all of this."

"Take whichever room you like, my friend," Arwen said.

Frodo nodded numbly. He took off in the halls by himself, until he reached a room that seemed hobbit-sized. Then he climbed onto the bed, sat down on its edge, and held his face between his hands. This was a lot to take in.


	11. Prince Legolas of Northern Mirkwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam helps Frodo deal with the events of the last chapter. Also, as you can guess, we find another friend.

Frodo spent the night like this, without hearing so much as the call of a bird at dawn or insects chirping in the darkness. There was nothing else than the wind, and the running water, and the distant noise of people stuck doing things that had no meaning. It was less scary once you knew what was happening. You could imagine those people asleep, dreaming about doing activities they liked, not noticing that they were stuck in a loop. At least they were happy. The same couldn't be said of Frodo.

It's not that he was sad. In truth, he was scared. He felt like what was happening to the world was his fault, and he had to find a solution himself, and fast, too. He had spent the night imagining how angry his friends would be at him for disturbing their eternal rest, or their peaceful life in Valinor; and only when the first streaks of gold appeared on the walls did Frodo realize that they just might be happy about it.

He had asked for a night of peace, but after it was done, he was longing for the sight of his friends again. Apparently, in this dream, they were alive. He really had gone back to them. Maybe their memories would even come back eventually, and it would be like they had never been away from each other. 

When the sun had properly risen in the sky and he could see farther than his hands again, Frodo decided that it was time to get up and eat something. He felt vulnerable at the thought of getting out of the room, as he was still somewhat upset at the thought that his friends might have taken an ill liking to him. But that didn't stop him from pushing the white door and taking a few steps outside.

He had meant to go see Sam first, and lo and behold, Sam was right there, crouching next to the donkey, who was staring right through Frodo like it could see his soul. It looked perfectly awake, unlike Sam, who was rubbing the sleep off his eyes. It made Frodo smile.

"Good morning, Mr Frodo. Sorry for bothering you so early in the morning, but see, I had planned on going to see if you were alright, but then I remembered you had asked not to be bothered. So I waited for you here, and this excellent little donkey came to me -- on his own, I'm telling you -- and sat next to me. So I said to him, "Perhaps I'll wait a little more and get you back to the stables. You must be mighty tired." But then I fell asleep, and I suppose he hasn't gone back by himself like he did yesterday. So there we are. I'll even say good morning again, Mr Frodo!"

Sam was beaming at him, and he couldn't do anything but grin back. Sam's face was even more beautiful when he smiled. He knew he ought to stop himself from thinking about such things, but he was in an easy mood. He sat down next to Sam and started to pet the little donkey, hoping for their hands to meet and clasp together like they so often had. Or maybe would lean onto his best friend and look out the window with him.

"I was wondering, Mr Frodo," Sam started uneasily. "You said you and I went to Valinor together. Did Rosie come with us?"

Frodo thought of giving him the long answer, about how Sam, wrecked with grief over Rosie's death, had left Middle-Earth the same year she passed away. But that would only bring more questions about whether everyone else had died too, and how, and if some of their friends had come to live in the Undying Lands too. Frodo didn't want to answer anything. His only wish at the moment was to enjoy a quiet sunrise with Sam.

"Don't ask questions, Sam. It's better not to know. Everything that happened after our adventure was shrouded in sadness. There's nothing more to say than that."

He sighed and looked at his hands. The donkey was looking at him; he could feel its warm breath on his arm. He pet it absent-mindedly.

"I'm sorry. You deserve answers, but I simply can't give them right now. I still need time."

Sam struggled to think of something comforting to say.

"Of course, Mr Frodo. To tell you the truth, I don't understand everything that's going on, but I know you're having a difficult time, what with those Valar and this quest and all that. Well, I wanted to say that it's not your fault, Mr Frodo. And I mean it!"

Frodo took a shaking breath. If there was one person he could tell everything to, it was Sam. His eyes felt like a warm beam under which he could feel safe and talk until his throat went dry.

"I'm so tired, Sam. Every day feels like I'm back in Mordor again, carrying an impossible weight. Gandalf was right. It was better not to let me in on the truth right away. Perhaps I'm making a scene out of nothing. I've been the ringbearer, and I've known horrible things. But these days, I only feel sadness, like a suffocating grey cloud with no sunshine to dissipate it."

Then Gandalf appeared at the end of the hallway.

"We shall be leaving soon!" he announced. "We have much to do today, so try to be hasty. We leave at eight o'clock sharp."

As the wizard disappeared again, Sam turned to Frodo with the sort of faces he used to make to make him hopeful again in Mordor. He stood up.

"Here's what I think, Mr Frodo. How about I try to stay awake with you during the ride, to try and distract you from all these nasty, dark thoughts?"

Frodo gave Sam a sad smile, much like the ones he used to make. It made something hurt inside Sam's heart, but he couldn't place it. He knew something was wrong but not how to fix it.

"You'll think I'm ridiculous, but I don't want to get up," Frodo admitted.

Sam didn't even say anything and simply sat back down.

"We'll just stay here, then. It's a nice hallway. Look at that view! I had no idea trees could grow this big."

Sam let out a whistle. It made Frodo smile.

"We can't stay here, we have places to be," Frodo protested. "And besides, we shouldn't keep Gandalf waiting."

"Gandalf can wait, in all due respect, Mr Frodo. You just stay here and look at the trees. Mighty fine trees, might I add. Look at those blue ones! We don't have ones like these in the Shire."

Frodo's smile widened.

"You know, Sam, you'll plant trees yourself one day. You'll grow them out of the soil the lady Galadriel gave you. It'll take a long time, but you'll be happy. Maybe I should say and you'll be happy. You can't get tired of doing something you love, as they say. I think you'll give some of your children flower names, too. There's little Rose, like her mother; little Elanor, which is a flower we saw in Lothlorien; there's also Daisy and Primrose, and, well, Ruby isn't a flower. Maybe goldilocks are? Are goldilocks flowers?" he mused.

The only other thing he could remember was that Elanor was supposed to be named Frodo, except she turned out to be a little hobbit-girl. The fact that Sam had gotten married and was having his first child -- that he was going to name after him -- it always made Frodo feel confused. All this time, he had thought that perhaps Sam was feeling something else for him, but then there was the wedding. He had thought at first that it had been a fault of his -- perhaps he had done something that upset Sam so much he had stopped thinking of him as anything but a friend. But then he had told him he had planned on naming his firstborn after him… Perhaps they had been nothing more than friends after all. It still made Frodo sad to think about it. It was as though he was being rejected backwards.

"They're flowers alright, Mr Frodo. Beautiful ones, too -- it's those seven-fingered little sparks of gold you see growing in sunny places. Let me tell you, they look radiant against their dark bushes, and they're very small, too, so when you make a bouquet, you can put them to the side as a sort of accessory, if you understand me. Beautiful little things they are."

"Ah! Right, she was bright-haired, I think. That would make sense."

Sam gave him a surprised look.

"Bright-haired? Now, I know elves can be bright-haired, but I've never heard of any hobbit that doesn't have brown hair. That's some new mischief, if you want my opinion."

His suspicion made Frodo smile without meaning to.

"Perhaps it was a sign that the War was over and that the world had become wholesome again," Frodo said.

"Well, I don't rightly like it."

Frodo started to laugh. It was a bright little laugh, light-hearted and impulsive, and Sam noticed he hadn't laughed like that in a while. Then Frodo smiled at him, and he felt his heart stop, or maybe it beat faster. It was hard to tell.

"I'm glad that you're here, Sam. I don't think I could get through this without you."

"And I wouldn't want you to," said Sam, and for some reason he was almost whispering.

Now they were looking into each other's eyes, and time seemed to pass very slowly. Frodo felt some sort of current pass between them. Sam reached out to hold his hand, and Frodo took it and gently stroked his knuckles. He looked down, because he knew he wouldn't forgive himself if he looked up and did something absurd. So he kept caressing Sam's hand and looking pointedly away from his beautiful face. He almost wanted to cry -- how long had Sam been wearing his ring for? How long had Frodo tried to dismiss his thoughts? And now that something was about to happen, he couldn't do anything, because he wouldn't forgive himself -- and maybe Sam wouldn't either once he woke up and remembered everything properly.

There was no way any of this would end up well unless he stopped it now, so he stood up and pulled Sam with him.

"Come on, now, Sam. We should get to the others."

"Right," said Sam, who was smiling uncontrollably and looked like he had no idea what Frodo had said. "Yes. Of course."

He only seemed to be pulled out of his dreamlike state when Frodo let go of his hand to put his travel-gear on. He looked regretful for a second, then shook himself up.

"Yes. The cart. Right. Where's my head?" he stammered. "I'll, uh, I'll go fetch my things then. I'll, uh, see you later?"

"Of course, Sam. I'll see you later, too," Frodo said with a smile that made Sam's stomach flip on itself.

"Right. Well, good-bye then."

Only then did the little donkey get up. He blinked a few times, then followed Sam up the hallway. When he was at the corner, Sam turned around and waved at Frodo. Frodo waved back. With a smile of his own, he went to wait by the cart. It was a new one, as planned. A very beautiful grey thing, very elvish-looking, with bigger wheels and a nice white cloth to protect the passengers from the sun. 

Aragorn was leaning on it, probably in an attempt to charm Arwen, who made a face like it was working but also looked funny. As she started to laugh, Aragorn cracked a smile and stood up properly to hold her hand. Frodo couldn't help but stare at them.

"She's rather pretty, isn't she?" Merry said from wherever he was.

Frodo looked around and found him sitting in the back of the cart.

"What?" Frodo said, because he had been thinking about doing the same kind of sweet nonsense with Sam.

"The lady Arwen. I thought all elf-maidens looked like that, but Strider told me she looked like this other elf-maiden called Luthien whose beauty is legendary. Do you know anything about that?"

"Yes," Frodo said, still feeling a little flustered. "I can tell you the story on the way."

"Great! Let's go, then! Where's Gandalf?"

Frodo wasn't surprised when he heard the wizard's booming voice ring out from somewhere far away. He liked to pop up like that in ways that were either very inconvenient or very practical. What surprised him was in fact what he was saying.

"I am back, and I brought a friend."

Arwen perked up and produced a bottle of water from one of her dress-pockets.

"Oh dear, he must be quite weary. Hold on a second, please," she said. "I'll go see if he needs anything."

"I'll go with you," Aragorn agreed.

They headed off, and Frodo didn't feel like going to see who it was (it was quite nice to sit under the shadows of the trees for a while) until he heard the familiar language of the Elves. Unless Aragorn and Arwen were talking in private again, it must mean that the friend was also an Elf. Could it be who he thought it was?

Frodo told Merry to hold on for a second and ran to the other side of the cart, where he saw sitting on the ground, drinking from Arwen's water bottle --

"Legolas!" Frodo cried. "What a surprise! I expected to see you in Mirkwood! And where's -- oh. Yes, right. You don't -- that's sad."

Legolas squinted at him as though he was trying to remember something.

"Bilbo Baggins? From Thorin and Company?" he let out hesitantly.

"Frodo Baggins, his nephew," Frodo corrected.

"I think the real one is approaching," Aragorn commented.

"Prince Legolas!" Bilbo exclaimed from the other side of the cart. "Well, hold up, let me put this here. And here I am!"

He pit-pattered to where they were all standing together and shook Legolas's hand. For a second, Frodo held the ridiculous hope that he remembered everything.

"Mr Baggins? You've aged," Legolas commented.

Bilbo started to laugh.

"Thank you. I am quite satisfied with it. And I see you've stayed the same, of course."

"I thought you didn't know each other before coming to Valinor," Frodo protested.

"I can't say I understand what you mean, but I've kept in touch with most of my old travel-friends. Now, I say "most" because I haven't had any word from Balin in a while. He's an important Dwarf-lord, mind you, so perhaps he has too many things to do."

Frodo had to turn his head around so Bilbo couldn't see the face he was making. How would he even break the news? The first time had already broken his heart -- well, both of theirs.

"King Thranduil hasn't fallen ill, has he?" Bilbo said, and his voice was worried.

Luckily, Legolas shook his head.

"Thankfully not, but he worried for you and sent me to get news."

Bilbo pressed a hand to his heart.

"Well, that's a relief."

"We were headed to Mirkwood," Aragorn said. "Perhaps we could offer you a ride?"

"I wouldn't want to impose," Legolas protested politely.

"I'm here!" Sam huffed from wherever he was (probably by the door).

He sounded like he was carrying an entire cart.

"Hold on, Sam, I'm coming," Frodo immediately let out.

He rushed to his friend's side, probably more panicked than he ought to be, and took his travel-pack from him. It was quite light, as far as travel-packs go.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just... got lost and had to run... because I didn't want to... be late…" Sam puffed. "Hold on…"

He took a few deep breaths.

"I wasn't late, was I?"

"My dear Sam, you're early," Frodo said, laughing. "We still have plenty of --"

"We're leaving!" Gandalf yelled from the other side of the cart.

Pippin's head popped out of the cart.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Make yourself small, Peregrin Took. We have a new companion today."

"There's no need to wake me up simply to tell me that. I could've figured it out on my own," Pippin said, and he went back inside.


	12. Bilbo's new song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the group reaches Mirkwood, Bilbo has a new idea for a song.

There was enough space for three people in the front seat, so Gandalf, the driver, and Legolas, the guide, sat together with Bilbo in the middle, because he wanted to have a look at the forest. The rest of the companions were happy enough to sit in the back, especially Merry, who had been looking forward to the story. Frodo also had the feeling that as long as Aragorn and Arwen were together, they would be happy to sit anywhere, anyway. They didn't look unhappy at all, even with the world being what it was.

"I dearly hope it wasn't the wrong decision to leave Father here like this," Arwen said to her fiancé in Elvish. "I know that he is asleep like you told me, but even then, my heart aches at the thought of him filling his paper with nobody to replace it or look after Rivendell."

"It'll be alright, I promise," Aragorn told her. "Lord Elrond is strong."

"Strength doesn't matter when the will is corrupted," Arwen sighed.

Seeing as Aragorn couldn't find anything else to say, Frodo decided to join their talk.

"I'm very sorry about that," Frodo intruded (also in Elvish). "It's my dream we're trapped in. As soon as I manage to control it, I promise you, I will rid your father of his evil state. "

They both stared at him in surprise.

"You speak our language!" Arwen let out in plain westron again.

"I should've expected it. How did you learn?" Aragorn added.

Frodo had meant to join their conversation, but perhaps a distraction was a better idea.

"I knew a little bit before our quest from uncle Bilbo over there, but I started to learn more in Valinor."

"That's all good and fine," Merry interrupted, "but you promised us a story, and I for one am longing to hear it."

"Oh! Right," Frodo said. "The story of Beren and Luthien. Now, if I could just remember how it begins…"

"The what?" Legolas chirped from his seat in the front of the cart. "A hobbit knows the history of our people? Now that's something you don't see every day. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'd like to go listen to the little one's tale."

"Suit yourself," Bilbo said. "Gandalf and I know the way already."

Gandalf shook his head in amusement as Legolas squirmed like a worm to squeeze through the gap between both ends of the cart. He managed to find himself a sitting-place next to Merry, who had found himself a rather uncomfortable seat on top of the things that Legolas had thrown in the back.

"Oh, here's my bow and arrows," he commented. "You shouldn't be sitting on that, little one. Here."

He untied his green and brown coat and rolled it into a ball for Merry to sit onto like a pillow.

"There we go!" he let out, then turned his bright elf-eyes to Frodo.

"Hey, Pip," Merry whispered. "Wake up, you're going to miss the story."

"And if I wake up, I'm going to miss out on sleep," Pippin grumbled.

"You've been sleeping a lot," Sam protested from where he had been peeking shy, awed glances at their new companion. "Are you doing alright?"

But Pippin was in a grumpy mood and didn't want to answer anything properly.

"I'm channelling all the sleep Frodo has been lacking. Now leave me alone and just tell your story already."

"I think this is rather important, actually," Frodo said in worry. "We know nothing about the rules of this new world. What if you're becoming like them?"

Pippin sighed and grabbed Merry's coat to haul himself up.

"Fine, fine, I'll get up, but I can't promise I'll be in a good mood," he let out. "Now what's the story about?"

"Well, Luthien was the daughter of Thingol, a great Elf-lord, and Melian, a powerful Maia…"

Time passed as though in a dream, which it was, so it made sense after all. Frodo didn't mind it at all, because he didn't really feel like telling their story at the moment. Love stories made him think about Sam, and thinking about Sam made his gut feel empty and he didn't like it. The only part of it that made him smile was the one where Luthien sang her song of sleep and weariness, and it made Morgoth, the cruelest of the Valar, fall asleep in his throne. It gave Frodo hope for the future.

Then came Gandalf's cry of "Here we are!". It shook Frodo out of his confusion. He looked out at the road, and found that they had just passed the bridge and had now reached two great doors of stone. A dark and beautiful river was bubbling underneath them, coming from somewhere in the woods they couldn't properly see. Such is how most of them first saw the castle of the Elven-king of Mirkwood, encased in golden rays and looking warm and inviting in the chill autumn air. Bilbo looked as proud as if the castle were his.

Legolas jumped out of the cart and went to knock three times on the doors. The two elven-guards were locked in an infinite conversation about the beauty of the leaves this year, and paid no mind to their prince as he walked by. The great doors opened with a mighty creak, and Legolas waved to everyone to join him. Arwen was the first to reach the castle, and she looked at the guards' faces in sorrow. She gently removed a leaf that was tangled in one of the guards' hair. She was as kind-hearted as he remembered her, Frodo thought. Aragorn must have thought the same thing, judging by the loving way he was looking at her.

"These poor, brave men," she said. "I wonder what they're thinking about right now. Are they aware of what's happening to them? Oh, I never should have left my father alone out there. He must be so scared. I should go back."

"They aren't," Gandalf said. "These men are peacefully asleep in their real homes right now, and so are all the ones who are suffering from the same predicament as they are. Your compassion is admirable, but for the sake of our mission, think of what's to happen instead of looking at the past, or you won't be able to make progress."

Arwen sighed and nodded, but she still looked upset. Aragorn, who had joined them, walked up to her and offered her his hand. She squeezed it gratefully. Frodo felt guilt wash over him like the river below was crashing on the rocks that were sitting on its bed. They were going on this quest because of him. He was the one pushing them forward.

"You're right. Maybe king Thranduil will have answers."

Sam walked up to them with his travel-pack in his hand.

"What shall we do with --"

He looked back at the cart, but the donkey had disappeared. They could still see its little tail somewhere in the forest.

"Well, I suppose that's that," Sam said.

They entered by the great gates into the cave, where red torch-light was their only companion in the unusual silence that reigned in the castle. They walked in a close formation until the echoes of a great song reached them. It was as though every Elf in Mirkwood was singing the same thing over and over, and as beautiful as it was, it chilled Frodo to the core. Such beauty and misery broke his heart in two, and he felt almost incapable of moving forward.

"Come on, Mr Frodo," Sam said to him softly. "We need to see what's going on."

"I'm coming, Sam," he let out, wiping his brow. "It took me aback, that's all."

Each step brought them closer to the singing. Pillars and pillars and pillars of stone stretched out almost interminably until the song became stronger than ever. Sitting on his oak-throne was Thranduil himself, sitting with his face bowed, looking graver than ever. His great staff lay on his knees, and he looked like he was in deep thought. All around him, his court was singing merrily, but it wasn't a merry day, and the harmonies that were once so beautiful now sounded grim, like an omen of despair.

As they shuffled closer to the throne, the companions felt both more upset and more reassured than they had been before, for they were both finding a new ally and discovering a different variation of the sleeping curse. Legolas went to stand besides his father and roused him from his contemplation.

"My son, you've come back at last," he said with the hint of a reassured smile. "Have you had any news?"

"I have, and I brought friends," Legolas answered.

Then he noticed the travellers and extended his hands.

"Come forth, travellers. I can't offer you much, but I have food and wine and beds where you can sleep."

"We shall stay for one night only, with your leave," Gandalf said.

Thranduil nodded.

"So be it."

Then his eyes went round and a real smile lit up his face.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he exclaimed. "Bilbo Baggins, as I live and breathe. I had hoped you would resist this strange curse, and behold, my wishes came true."

Bilbo waved shyly.

"Now you must all stay for more than a day," Thranduil protested. "I have been longing for news of this most excellent hobbit since our last meeting."

Gandalf frowned to himself.

"We shall see. We have urgent business to attend to, Lord."

"Then you'll surely agree to tell me all about it around food and a fire," Thranduil said stubbornly.

"Food?" said Merry.

"Fire?" said Pippin.

"Indeed, brave hobbits. Food grows stale and we have less people to feed than we used to, so my son and I have taken to fresh berries and roasted meat on a stick."

"Can we go, Mr Gandalf?" Pippin said. "This hallway is horrific. I don't want to spend any more time here than I have to."

"That's why we usually eat outside, away from the noise," Legolas piped in. "Come, little ones. Let me show you the way."

He held both of them by the hand and walked off. Pippin looked too upset to care, but Merry made an angry face.

"You don't need to hold my hand," Merry protested. "I'm not a child."

"Are you not?" Legolas repeated.

"I'm twenty-four," Merry explained. "Can't you tell?"

"You're all children to me," Legolas said.

"Now that's just rude," Merry grumbled, and disappeared along with them by a great door.

"I wrote a new song," Bilbo announced as they all got up to follow them. "Came to me in a dream, it did, and I wrote it down as quickly as I could. Now, it might now be as good as what you're used to --"

"I didn't even know that was possible," Frodo whispered to Sam. "I thought nothing new would happen here."

His friend nodded.

"I don't rightly know, Mr Frodo. Maybe they've jumbled-up something up there."

"Can they even do that?" Frodo mused.

"This dream-business is already strange. What's another degree of it? That's how I see it, anyways."

"You don't think we've missed something important, do you?"

"I sure hope not, Mr Frodo."

They missed the last part of the conversation, but could hear Bilbo's faint singing under the chorus of Elves around them.

I found my footsteps carried me  
To a place I once have known  
Memories encased, stuck in stone  
Of somewhere very dear to me

I hit and kick against the rock  
That holds all that I've ever known  
Fair memories of golden spring  
And people with faces unknown

I can't remember anything  
But I dearly wish that I knew  
Why all these perfect memories  
Have chosen now to slip away

The song was short, but it left Frodo with a lot to think about.

"Hold on, Sam," Frodo stammered, and he ran to the top of the file to where Bilbo was walking. "What's the song about, again?"

"Why, I thought it was quite obvious," Bilbo said. "I sometimes find myself longing for something I can't recall, or wanting to call someone whose name slips away. Yesterday, I dreamed about making flower crowns with a young lad, so I wrote a song about it before I could forget. Strange dreams they are, but these are even stranger times."

Frodo felt a little bit of hope warm his heart, but at the same time, he was worried. What would happen if everyone started to remember?

"Yet even in strange times, we might find some degree of comfort in the presence of a friend," Thranduil said with a little smile.

Bilbo muttered something that didn't sound like a word. It was Frodo's turn to want to tease him, but like the last time, he decided against it. He wasn't feeling up to it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this song myself. I hope you like it :3


	13. No more dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after the evening-meal.

The meal was uneventful. Frodo felt like it would have been a good time to doze off to sleep, surrounded by his friends and warmed by the bright fire, but he couldn't, so he resorted to looking around for something to do. The woods were silent, save for the singing streams and the tree-branches that were clacking together. Sam went to sleep almost immediately after dinner, and there he still was, curled up against Frodo with his head on the log they were sitting on. Frodo wanted to caress his cheek, but he didn't, of course, because it would have been a horrible thing to do.

He had meant to tell Arwen about her future so she would understand why in the end, her father would be happy with her decision to leave, but now that he was there, he didn't want to anymore. He felt hopeless again. He wanted to curl up into a ball and wait until he became as shrivelled as those brown leaves in the trees. He felt the urge to cry but as he wasn't alone, he stopped himself. It wasn't the right place for it, because everyone would see him. How he longed for his quiet little room in Rivendell!

After a while, despite not having curled up into a ball and shrivelled like a leaf, Frodo began to feel cold and empty. It was still better than his previous state, so he welcomed the change. He decided to go look for his uncle, who was off somewhere in the forest with the Elven-king. Frodo hadn't known that they were close until now, and he had to admit that he was growing curious about it. Frodo decided not to go soon after, but for the sake of our story, what happened will still be included here.

It so happened that Bilbo wondered aloud about what had become of the spiders and the dark cloud and all of those nasty things that used to be in Mirkwood, and Thranduil, in an unexpected show of hospitality, stood up and decided to lead him around the forest himself. Bilbo didn't know why the king had chosen to do that, but he assumed that it was out of boredom, or of a need to leave his palace for a while, so he didn't ask any questions and enjoyed the night walk.

Then they came across a little circle in the ground that held the remnants of one of the Wood-elves' fires. He still remembered their merrymaking, and how the sight of them in the distance had warmed his heart after such a long, dreary walk down the forest-road. He had not been there often, but the strange silence shook him regardless; and Thranduil must have felt it too, because he kneeled in front of the ashes and softly sung to himself part of the song Bilbo had recited earlier. Bilbo looked at his face and thought him fair, and beautiful, with his golden hair that fell against his face, and his young yet ancient eyes that looked so sad at the moment.

I hit and kick against the rock  
That holds all that I've ever known  
Fair memories of golden spring  
And people with faces unknown

"My kingdom used to be a merry one, filled with laughter and song," he let out in a choked voice. "The merriest of all the elven kingdoms under the Sun, I used to say. This land that I had made my home and ruled over for so long, over winter and peril, and many dreadful things I shall not name -- it used to be beautiful. But now, all I have to show you are the remnants of the ashes where my people used to dance. This is not a merry place anymore. Only me and my son remain. Everyone else is trapped in dreadful songs, or in confusing talk about things that happened a long time ago. Perhaps I shall bury here my crown, and with it the memory of the people that used to live here."

He took off his crown and gently passed his thumb over one of the red berries that were growing on its branches.

"There is no happiness here anymore," he said, and placed his crown on the ground in the middle of the ashes. "I am but the shadow of a king that rules on nothing but an empty land."

Thranduil stayed silent for a while. Bilbo said nothing either and went to sit next to him. The wind howled like there was a pack of wolves in the sky, but down here in the forest, the weather was warm, as though they were sheltered under a blanket while the storm was raging outside.

"When my son was young, a long time ago, I sat him on the throne and said, "Legolas, my boy, one day you shall sit on this throne with your wife and rule over all the land that is ours." I remember his eyes. They looked scared. Quite a nervous boy he was when he was younger. I never quite stopped seeing him this way. He told me, "Ada, when I become king, will I need to have a wife, or will I be allowed to rule on my own like you?" He didn't know yet what had become of his mother."

Thranduil sighed.

"Do you have children, master Baggins? Can you imagine a day where you stop protecting them? I cannot. Years go by and still I worry for him. I despised myself for letting him go on his own, but I had to know what had become of you."

He turned to Bilbo, who looked down at his feet and struggled to think of something to say.

"I've never had children of my own," he said, even though the words sounded wrong for a reason he couldn't understand. "I've never gotten married either. I suppose I always had better things to do."

Thranduil smiled.

"One could argue that "better" would not be the right word."

"Well, I hope one doesn't, because this is no time for mind-games."

The king let out a laugh. Bilbo felt quite proud of himself for that.

"Of course."

They stayed quiet for a few seconds, but the silence was pleasant.

"Who was the young man you mentioned earlier, then, if not your son?"

"To tell you the truth," Bilbo said, and he turned to the king to further prove his point that this was an exclusive information he was giving away, "I didn't say anything about it earlier, because I didn't want to confuse anyone, but that lad looked like young Frodo Baggins. The bright-eyed boy who was sitting on the edge of the log, if you don't know."

Thranduil hummed thoughtfully.

"Then perhaps the rest of those memories of yours also have something to do with him. Have you considered talking to him about it?"

"Begging your pardon, lord, but what do you know about lost memories?"

Thranduil laughed again.

"Nothing, of course; but as your friend, is it not my duty to try to advise you?"

"Right," Bilbo said, and he was smiling, too.

The King looked at Bilbo with fondness in his eyes, then looked away.

"You gave me a necklace that day," he let out. "Why? I deserved no such gift."

"I, I don't know," Bilbo stammered. "I just -- I suppose I wanted you to remember me."

Thranduil tried to hide his surprise, but did so very poorly.

"And here I had always believed it was to pay for the bread and wine that you had stolen from me."

"It hardly deserved such payment," Bilbo protested.

"Was it not better than anything you were used to eating?"

Bilbo laughed.

"Again, hardly."

"Then I shall have a word with my cooks. We can't have burglars stealing mediocre food, now, can we?"

Bilbo was starting to believe that the king was being serious, but then a smile lit up his face, and from burdened he looked jolly again.

"It is good that you were spared from this illness, my friend. The forest is merrier with you in it -- as am I, too. Is it too much to hope that when your companions leave, you will stay here with me?"

We must say here that Bilbo truly considered staying, but after some thinking, he decided against it. He wasn't sure why at first, when the forest and the caves of the Elven-king looked so inviting -- but perhaps there was something stronger than him pushing him to refuse. Or perhaps he simply felt a duty to young Frodo, even though he could not understand it yet.

He shook his head, and even though the king had been expecting such a reply, there was still sadness in his eyes. Bilbo reached out and held Thranduil's hands between his own.

"I assure you, lord, that as soon as my quest is finished, I will send word of it to you. I only ask that you do not forget about me in the meantime."

"Oh, Bilbo, dearest of friends," Thranduil said, and he raised one of his hands to touch Bilbo's cheeks, "how could I ever forget you when you've been occupying my thoughts for so long?"

"Is this about the necklace?" Bilbo managed to say after trying and failing for a few seconds, because he was quite tongue-tied.

Under the king's gentle gaze, he found that he could barely put words together, but for some reason, he found that it was not the worst predicament.

"It's about so much more than that. And if you'll let me, I'd like to give you something of my own for you to remember me by."

"At least this time we'll know it's not about stealing things," Bilbo said because he couldn't stop himself.

It made Thranduil laugh again, and Bilbo felt him smile as he pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. It was a surprise, to be sure, but not all surprises were bad ones; and this one, Bilbo found, was quite pleasant.

They sat under the treetops for a while, and when they went back to the group, only Frodo was awake. The young hobbit noticed that the king wasn't wearing his crown anymore, but he said nothing about it.

The next day, Thranduil saw them off, and these are the words that he said to them before the grey cart disappeared into the dark shadows of Mirkwood:

"There are no more dragons in Middle-Earth, nor will trolls and orcs attack you on your way; yet I fear your quest will lead you over the edge of something mystical and unknown. Please, if you have a thought for your friend the Elven-king, direct any travellers that you may find to my doors. I will welcome any and all of those who wish to find a home here; for what is left of my kingdom if not it's hospitality? Go in peace, now, my son, and most of all, be careful, for the world is still as unpredictable as it is quiet and kind. May all of you find new friends along the way."


	14. Dain Ironfoot, King under the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We reach Erebor at last (and it's much nicer than it used to be)

The ride to Erebor, the dwarf-kingdom, was very long and boring. Frodo found himself wishing that he could sleep it all away like Pippin did. The little hobbit looked more cheerful now that they had tucked away the white cloth, and took to throwing pebbles at Gandalf when the wizard wasn't looking. The poor man eventually sat him down in Bilbo's front seat and ordered him not to move.

Bilbo himself was sitting at the back of the cart, with his legs dangling from the edge of it. He was singing a melancholic little song to himself. His mithril-coat glinted in the pale sunlight that shone from the edge of the peaks. Frodo looked at him and felt pity for his uncle, so he went to sit next to him. In the back of the cart, everything dangled and battered more, but despite it all, it was a nice day, and Frodo wanted his uncle to be able to enjoy it, too.

"Oh, hello there," Bilbo let out.

"Are you okay?" Frodo asked without waiting.

"Well, now," Bilbo stammered, taken aback. "If you need to know, we left a powerful ally back there. A good companion he would've been. I dearly wish the lord could have come with us, but that's that, I suppose, and there's no point in talking about it anymore."

"Are you two close?" Frodo asked clumsily.

Bilbo laughed a nervous laugh and changed the subject like the master of illusions he was.

"You know, we met when I was only fifty-something. Fighting a dragon we all were with a plethora of Dwarves and Men, too. It's a funny story, this one, because even though the Dwarves and me had gone all the way to Dale and beyond to fight that blasted creature, the one who managed to kill it wasn't one of our company. Bard was his name, and he was from Dale."

"He killed Smaug with the black arrow he had inherited from his father, and his father's father before him," Frodo nodded. "This story always filled me with courage. From as far as I can remember, I've always wanted to go on adventures with you. They would not even be as scary as yours were, I thought, because you would be there with me. I wish we had travelled together sooner."

Bilbo hummed.

"I wasn't sure of it before, but now you have me quite convinced. You're that lad from my dream, aren't you? My nephew, if I recall correctly what you screamed at me when I met you in Rivendell. I suppose you recall all those things I seem to have forgotten myself, too?"

Frodo laughed.

"I am," he confirmed. "And I do. These memories are from the years we spent in Valinor together, I am sure."

He added nothing more, because he was thinking back himself to the fair rivers and plains, and he was feeling an emotion he could not place.

"You don't seem quite happy about it," Bilbo noticed.

Frodo shrugged.

"I must admit that it's been easier to think that nobody would ever remember. I am content here in peaceful Middle-Earth."

Frodo fiddled with his coat before adding something he had meant to ask a few months ago, back when he was still in Valinor.

"You know, I had written bits of a song before all of this nonsense happened. Perhaps you'd like to hear it? It's quite sad, but it might help put what you're feeling into words. I was missing my friends too when I wrote it. I don't have the paper anymore, but I still remember most of it. I don't write songs often, of course, but after spending so many years in Valinor, I started to get bored."

"Why, another song-writer! Go ahead, my lad."

"Alright, alright," Frodo said, laughing.

I find myself walking alone  
Between fair beach and stormy sky  
The song of the sea, good and pure  
Does nothing yet to appease me

I've always longed to leave my home  
To shed my name and start afresh  
Yet here on the shore I can see  
How wrong I've been, and how alone

I long to have even a glimpse  
The faintest whisper of out there  
I think, "how could I decide that?"  
"How could I ever choose to leave?"

Often I wish I could turn back  
Leave golden halls and mighty kings  
Without them, nothing has meaning  
Oh! How I wish I could go back!

Hot food has no taste anymore  
I can't feel the bite of winter  
Perfumeless are the pink flowers  
Colourless is the sight of dawn

I hope for even just a word  
Sleepless nights in the halls of kings  
Only nightmares welcome me now  
Alone is he who bore the Ring

"It isn't much, but perhaps it will appease you," Frodo concluded. "I had hesitated before showing it to you, back then. It felt like I would be baring my soul to you. Perhaps all songs are like that: some way of reassembling your soul into music."

Now that he had sung it, it was Frodo's turn to feel sad. Then Bilbo spoke, and it distracted him.

"I see what you mean. A cold emptiness in the pit of your stomach. I feel it, too. Quite a strange feeling, too, if you want my opinion. Wishing you could get a glimpse. Replaying memories over and over in your head. Yes, this is all very familiar. I just might ask to hear it a second time."

"Perhaps another time, if you still want to then."

Bilbo nodded.

"Of course. Now, I have a question for you: what were you doing all the way over to the Undying Lands, and moreover, what was I doing there with you?"

Frodo sighed, and when he had mulled over what he would answer, he found that he was feeling a little bit better about the situation as a whole.

"Well, see, after our whole business with the Ring, I started to feel ill from an enchanted wound I had gotten on the journey. I don't remember whose idea it was, but someone suggested I went to Valinor to heal. I had nothing to -- well, no, not quite, but I was desperate for a change, so I went. You came with me. We had both been ring-bearers, you see, and so we were both granted the privilege to sail across the sea. Sam joined us after some fifty years, and then Legolas and Gimli after everyone else had passed. The years passed and I think it's been around two hundred years since you and I first set foot on the blessed island."

First, Bilbo inquired about the current state of the wound, and once he was reassured, he allowed himself to feel glad.

"And here I thought this would be my last adventure! Now I can finally understand properly what Gandalf told all of us in Rivendell. I can't say I'm upset about the Ring. It was a useful little thing, but there was always something off about it. How it used to slip away unexpectedly, or how you would find yourself wearing it without meaning to. I can't imagine how difficult the quest to destroy it must've been. No often have we received news of goblins this year, but there must have been quite a few in your time -- and whatever the Ringwraiths are, they can't be good news either."

The cart stopped just as Frodo was about to answer. There came also the sound of their companions arguing, so they shuffled back inside to hear what it was about.

"We can't climb up a mountain in a cart pulled by a donkey," Merry was saying. "This road is a lucky find. I suggest we use it."

"I'm sure this specific donkey would've figured something out anyway," Sam said stubbornly. "He's smart, and if he doesn't want to go further, we should listen."

Arwen let out a pensive sigh.

"If this is all a dream, then perhaps this road will lead us deeper into it. It might not be a normal road -- as normal as a magical road can be."

"We should at least go investigate," Aragorn agreed. "The road won't be of much use regardless of its intentions if there are holes in it."

"It might be dangerous," Sam protested.

"Who even stopped the cart?" Frodo asked.

The wizard's blue hat became visible between the gaps in the planks.

"I did! And I wasn't planning on such a simple decision having so many ripples," Gandalf called. "If you want to know, I was well-aware of this road's existence even before the dream started, for I was the one who suggested it's invention. I stopped the cart to have a good look at it and make sure it will lead us where we need to go. And it will!"

"There's a road in the mountains? Let me see," Bilbo exclaimed.

The old hobbit raised himself above the top of the cart, and Frodo followed him. It was a road like any other, except for the fact that if you looked closely enough, you could see Gandalf's symbol etched in its corners.

"What's going on? Are we there yet?" Pippin yawned.

"Not quite," said Gandalf, "and we should remedy that. Come now, everyone, get back inside the cart. We are on our last stretch before we reach Erebor, and there we shall rest for a few days at least."

Energized by the announcement, Frodo started to pay attention to the road again. The rock smelled like the sun, and yesterday's snow was melting into little puddles. The noise it all made was rather delightful, and it made their arrival in the dwarf-kingdom all the more pleasant.

Since Frodo was paying attention, time passed normally, and he could enjoy the ride. Arwen and Aragorn had fallen asleep on each other's shoulder, and Merry was reading an old travel-map. Sam was at Frodo's side now, and he was pointing particularly beautifully-shaped rock formations or commenting on the new bird-calls they were hearing. Frodo's face lit up with a smile once more.

"What kind of plants do you think they have here?"

"I don't know. I don't think Dwarves like them much."

"They don't like plants?" Sam exclaimed, outraged. "What about flowers and trees?"

Legolas burst into easy laughter behind them.

"Of course not," he commented. "They like gold better."

"Don't be so quick to judge," Bilbo groaned from where he was sitting half-asleep in a blanket. "I seem to remember that the feud your people had with theirs started with just that; treasure. And you can't fight for the ownership of something if both parties don't want it."

"It was a matter of claiming what was ours," Legolas protested.

"And they would say the same thing," Bilbo replied. "Besides, what does it matter? Treasure and gold aren't worth ruining a good friendship. See, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins once stole a couple of silver spoons from me, and --"

"Surely, you must have tried to claim them back?" Legolas pressed.

"It made for a good laugh in the end, so I don't mind, really. Besides, I don't think I really needed any fancy cutlery. I'm much more fond of these golden buttons. They're real gold, you know."

"Are they?" Merry let out with an impressed whistle.

"And in any case, I gave that necklace the tale spoke of back to your father, so perhaps you and them could start getting along better."

"You hobbits are a simple people. I must say it confuses me, and I would gladly learn your ways."

"Start by looking beyond old family history. Times change, and we can't hold onto old grudges forever. You surely see that it's moved on far beyond a grudge and has almost become a prejudice?"

Legolas nodded.

"This has been an interesting discussion, Mr Baggins, but I must leave you now and ask our dear wizard friend about our next stop."

He bowed his head and slithered through the gap to reach the front seat. Bilbo hummed thoughtfully before turning to his nephew.

"You mentioned the lad's wife Gimli, but I don't think we've met her yet. Does she not live in Mirkwood?"

"Oh, my dear uncle," Frodo said, laughing, "Gimli is no wife, and he lives in Erebor with the rest of his people."

Bilbo burst into laughter.

"Well, this ought to be good. A Dwarf and an Elf! How did that even happen?"

"I'm not quite sure, but in any case, we'll probably witness it ourselves soon."

Uncle and nephew shared a look of amusement and started to snicker like mischievous children, before turning towards the road once more. Gloin had not been lying. The Mountain was criss-crossed with terraces, and a few towers spiked here and there from its sides. There were magnificent fountains and pools disposed between colourful stone-roads that shone like the scales of a gigantic dragon. They had reached the Lonely Mountain at last.


	15. Friendship renewed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is being good friends

Sometimes, bright ideas find us at the least expected moment. Today, for example, as they were unloading their cart, Frodo realized that the day he had woken up in Buckland with his mother, Primula had waved hello to him. He found that he did not like that at all, and in fact, he was cursing himself for realizing it now. He would rather not have noticed it then having noticed it now, when the only thing he could do was sit in silence and feel guilty about not having known before.

It's not that he hated her, of course; but growing up, he had the fear that his parents would come back out of nowhere and take him away from Bilbo, who he had become very fond of. He liked his life in Bag End, with his uncle of course, and the nice old gardener and his son who came by to say hello sometimes. Nobody knew why Drogo and Primula died, but he had heard the rumours that they had sunk each other out of hatred, and it made him scared. Not of boats, but of being caught by sudden murderous thoughts that would make you destroy the one you loved most. He had only been twelve, and if you had told him the world was ending tomorrow at noon, he would have believed you with only little doubt.

This and much more was what Frodo was thinking about as he took his travel-pack from the cart. He didn't react other than by a shake of his head when Sam offered to take it from him. Sam was sounding more and more like his old self, which Frodo couldn't say he wholly appreciated. The chief benefit of having nobody remember their future was that you could pretend you had never lived it.

"Mr Frodo, you look distraught," Sam said to him softly. "Is there something on your mind?"

"I don't think I'm quite ready to talk about it, if that's alright with you," Frodo let out sadly.

"Well, that's quite alright with me, indeed."

Sam hauled his pack on his shoulder (and how broad it was, thought Frodo) and gave his friend a smile. Frodo realized that he was going to say yes to whatever he was about to say: that's how much of an effect Sam had on him in that moment. His best friend was shrouded in sunlight, looking energetic and happy, as though there was nothing that could stop him in that moment; and Frodo felt that he was being driven towards that energy like a sunflower to the Sun.

"Come on, Mr Frodo, let's not let ourselves be left behind."

"Of course, Sam. You can lead the way."

He vaguely heard Sam marvelling at the beauty of the fountains and the precise shaping of the floor. All that occupied Frodo's mind was the realization that Sam meant everything to him. It was as though something was blooming in him, like the soft, warm petals of a great flower inside his lungs. He wanted to hold Sam and whisper soft words to him, or sit by a fire together, or simply be in his company. He did not know how he had managed to stay sane in Valinor without him at his side. Frodo without Sam felt as if you were eating cereal without milk, or if you carried an unlit candle around your house. It made no sense; it was broken; and it was unpleasant at that.

"Sam," he called out. "Why don't we go explore the halls together later today?"

"I'd mighty enjoy that, Mr Frodo."

"Do try to find as many of your uncle's old travel-friends along the way. We have much to discuss," Gandalf said as they passed him by.

Frodo agreed, and he left his travel-pack, along with Sam's, by the fountain where Arwen and Aragorn were sitting.

"Have you ever seen the Lonely Mountain in the days of its glory? I heard it was beautiful," Aragorn was saying.

"Oh, it was, of course, but it is quite lovely now as well. Simply look at all the colors! Ir is as though the artisans of Erebor have given merriness a concrete form."

"It is a good thing, then, that we shall stay here for a few days. What would you like to explore first?"

"What would you like to see?" Arwen repeated.

Aragorn shrugged noncommittally.

"Oh, no, could it be that you're not enjoying yourself here? Surely I am not the only one whose spirits are lifted by the dwarven craft's beauty?"

"Of course not," Aragorn said, and he smiled; "But when you are here, every other beautiful thing seems bleak in comparison."

As Arwen started to laugh, Frodo stopped listening to their conversation, because he was growing quite annoyed; but Sam sighed.

"They make quite the pair, don't you think, Mr Frodo?"

Frodo made a disgusted face that he tried to hide, but Sam saw it and started to laugh.

"Here I thought you were a romantic yourself," he teased.

Frodo smiled, but all he could think of was Rosie's face on her wedding day, and how Sam had kissed her, and how he had looked so tender and sweet all the while. It made Frodo want to bury his heart in a hole under the mountain.

"Of course I like weddings, I just don't like -- bad ones," Frodo explained badly in his hurry to find himself an excuse.

He was so busy justifying himself that he almost bumped into a pillar. It made the both of them realize that they were inside the mountain now, and were walking in its long halls carved out of living stone and lit with great fires. The walls were made in such a way that it seemed like they were walking on a road in the forest, with lines of thick trees all around them; only it was stone, and there was no wind.

"Well, would you look at that! It seems dwarves like trees after all," Sam said with a smile.

Frodo nodded, and watched him trace the lines of bark on the walls. It was sad that Frodo should see a place so fair and yet not have the heart to enjoy it. He noticed that all around them, Dwarves turned around and whispered in confusion to themselves, but he cared not about that. He was looking for hoods of specific colors: emerald-green, purple, white, yellow, and apple-green.

"Now, about what you said earlier: what do you mean?" Sam echoed.

"Well, it's -- if you go to a wedding wanting your own but knowing your chance has passed, or something like that. Oh, hello, Mr Bifur," he said as he spotted a yellow hood. "Mr Baggins and Mr Gandalf are looking for you at the entrance. I mean, Frodo Baggins at your service."

He bowed low. Bifur, who had been staring at the little hobbit in astonishment, remembered he was supposed to reply and bowed back.

"Bifur, at yours and your family's! Frodo Baggins, eh? You wouldn't be little Bilbo's son, would you?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm his nephew."

"Nephew! Well, I suppose that's better than nothing. I shall be off now, young Mr Baggins, but I expect we shall bump into each other soon. Farewell!"

Most of the next encounters went like that, until they spotted a light-green hood amongst all the others. Frodo led Sam by the hand so as to not lose him in the crowd, and refused to let go even as they managed to reach old Bombur by the light of a fire. What Gloin had said all those years ago was still true: Bombur was enormous, and jolly -- which, to a hobbit, was quite normal, so neither of them asked any questions. He couldn't bow, because in truth, he had become almost incapable of movement, which was rather sad. Instead, he asked one of the young lads who were sitting next to him to bow in his stead.

"Bombur, at your service," he said in his happy voice.

"Frodo Baggins, at yours," Frodo said, and he bowed back.

The rest of the conversation went as planned, except that when it was time to leave, Bombur gestured to the young lads, who got up and hauled his chair up. Only then did the hobbits realize that he was sitting in a special chair that was made to be held up, meaning they would have to sit on the ground. They watched him and his helpers disappear, then sat down by the fire.

Frodo realized at that moment that he was still holding Sam's hand, and he let go. He looked at the ground in embarrassment and refused to budge.

"I hope you're enjoying your visit so far," he muttered in a feeble attempt at pretending all of this was normal.

"I am," Sam answered, but he sounded like he had something else to ask. "I remembered something."

Frodo looked up and felt his hands clench together.

"That's a good sign, I think," Frodo said uselessly. "Tell me about it."

"Well," Sam said, and he let out a little smile, "a little while ago, I started to see a hill in my dreams. Every night, it returned with more and more details, until I could hear a woman laughing. Do you think it was my wife?"

Frodo swallowed back every bit of emotion he was feeling and gave Sam a very fake, hollow smile.

"Well, my dear Sam, I say you're on the right road. When we go back to the Shire after all this is over, perhaps you'll find that she remembers you, too."

"Is that possible?" Sam asked.

"Who knows," Frodo shrugged.

"There's more," Sam added. "I remembered seeing her carrying our first child, and our second, and -- well, I remember a ring on my finger."

Frodo gave Sam a sad smile, even if he wanted to cry. How could he ever think that Sam had loved him, if he spoke this way of his wife? His wife that he had married, and not -- well, him.

"That's your life alright, Sam."

Sam, being Sam, wasn't fooled for one second by Frodo's fake smile, and he gently reached out. As their hands brushed, Frodo almost banged his head on the wall and placed a hand on his eyes. It hurt to be so close to Sam and to feel their hands together while knowing they would never be closer than what Sam felt they were: friends. He wanted to kiss him and proclaim his love to him in all the poetic, overcomplicated, ridiculous ways Aragorn and Arwen talked about each other; and he wanted to hold Sam until his arms gave out, and to name stars after him, and do all other sorts of things that almost made him feel better until he realized that they couldn't be true. Then he looked at Sam, and tried to say something, but warm tears fell from his eyes and he found that he was incapable of forming sentences.

He stood up, and Sam followed him.

"I think I'll go back and see what the others are up to, now, if you don't mind, Sam."

"I'll come with you," Sam immediately said.

"No, I think I'd like to be alone now, if you --"

He couldn't even finish his sentence and thought it best to leave while he still had some dignity left.

"I'll see you later, then," Sam called after him.

Frodo nodded and walked away. He felt as guilty as he felt ridiculous. As soon as he was away from the fire, he cooled down, and started to ask himself questions. What did he think he was doing? Holding hands and sneaking glances had been nice, very nice, in fact; but he had to be realistic. Where would it lead? To misery, that's what. He had to put a stop to it.

He felt cold and empty like stone untouched by dwarven hands. But what else was he to do? Besides, he had other things to do. If his uncle has received the news of his old companions' grievous end in Moria, perhaps he would need his support. Frodo could only assume it was the reason behind Gandalf asking him to bring all the old company to the great doors.

What happened next is that he found his uncle and the dwarves grieving for their fallen friends, and since it was a very sad thing to witness, we will follow dear old Sam's story now.

There was a room close to the main hall where Sam could hear muffled sobs, and he decided to head the other way. He managed to reach the outside by himself, and found a sitting-place next to Merry and Pippin. The two welcomed him and directed his gaze towards Legolas, who was begrudgingly guiding a stranger towards them. His hood was white, and his beard brown; and something in his eyes was familiar, but Sam couldn't place why. It made him feel troubled.

"Gimli, at your service," the Dwarf said, and he bowed to the ground.

"Sam Gamgee, at yours and your family's," Sam let out, hoping it was the right thing to say.

"In honour of Lord Balin and his fallen companions, Dain Ironfoot, King under the Mountain, is summoning your company to a banquet tonight. He hopes you will all be able to make it."

Legolas frowned and looked at his feet.

"I'm sorry to hear it."

Gimli nodded, but didn't say anything else.

"I don't think I shall be re-entering that room soon. I don't suppose you would let me sit here?"

Pippin shuffled to the side, and Gimli took a seat gratefully.

"Were you close?" asked Legolas, of all people.

"Very. They were some of my father's closest friends. Some of them were still so young, too."

He wiped his eyes.

"They fell in Khazad-dùm, our old kingdom far away. We couldn't have known. We have had no news for years. Perhaps if our kingdom had been stronger, we would've been able to push back the Orcs… but I suppose it's not going to happen anymore. Ah! Why am I baring my soul to strangers?"

"Be not ashamed of yourself, master Dwarf, for it is said that even in strange times, we might find some degree of comfort in the presence of a friend. That's what my father always says."

"Your father is a wise man," Gimli said.

Sam was quite surprised to see how fast the two had gotten past their initial disregard of each other.

"You may be a stranger, but you don't feel like one to me, if you see what I mean," Sam said pensively.

"If what Tharkûn said to us is right -- and it usually is --, I suppose we have all met before."

"Excuse me, but who's Tharkûn?" Merry asked.

"Gandalf, of course," Aragorn explained after appearing out of nowhere with Arwen at his side. "He is a man of many names."

"What's his real one, then?" Pippin asked.

Everyone looked at each other, then shrugged.

"Mr Frodo would know," Sam let out.

"So would Gandalf, if anyone asked him," Merry added. "Perhaps it bothers him that we've all been calling him by his nickname."

"I don't think any of his names are aliases," Arwen said. "We Elves give many names to people. Like Elwë Singollo who became Elu Thingol, and even the mighty Varda, first Queen of the Valar, whom we often call Elbereth. One may shed names as a lizard sheds its skin, but new or old, it will fit its bearer just as well."

Then a bell rang from somewhere, and the companions stood up. It was time for the feast.


	16. Frodo has regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 1404 and time-appropriate garbage is happening.

To people who hadn't experienced grief first-hand before, it might have been strange to see the king's friends and his guests laugh together in such a grim occasion. But people often find ways to be joyful in the most surprising times, like how Frodo had smiled when he had found a crown on the old statue of the king. Of course, the first hour was hard, but then they had all started to get rather hungry, and in a rather strange way, life had gone on, and the king had decided to prepare a feast. It wasn't a proper one, because it was quite last-minute, and there was no music or anything particularly merry, but that was alright. The main purpose of it was to bring everyone together, anyway.

Sam found Frodo sitting on a little chair next to Bilbo. To his relief, it didn't look like he had cried. He probably already knew. He was talking to Bifur with the yellow hood, as promised. There was no room for Sam to sit next to Frodo, so he went to sit with Merry and Pippin. He felt a little sad about it, but decided that it was quite alright, and started to pay attention to his surroundings again. Merry was frantically trying to get their hosts to stop trying to give Pippin alcoholic drinks, while Pippin was laughing to himself and making no move to help his poor friend. It made Sam smile.

"He can't drink that, sir, I'm telling you -- he's fourteen!"

"Give him two, then, he's a growing boy," Bofur replied.

"Go on, master hobbit, give him ale!" Bombur exclaimed.

"Please, friends, let's give poor Meriadoc a bit of peace," Aragorn soothed. 

"Say, I found those colourful roads particularly beautiful. How did you make them?" Arwen added helpfully.

The question was enough to distract the two brothers from their business, who, once their surprise had passed, launched into a complicated explanation of the processes and tools they had used for their making. Since Arwen was a good listener, they afterwards started to tell her about their new construction plans, which Aragorn started to get interested in, too. Then Sam asked about the halls carved in the likes of trees, which he noted bore striking resemblance to the real thing.

After a while, as the conversation approached topics that he had no particular interest in, Sam stopped listening and looked around for his friends. Pippin was eating and talking to Merry about how the food was wonderful here. He eventually ate so much that he fell asleep on the table. Merry started to place various things on his head for him to knock over when he woke up. Sam participated by putting a clean towel on it, then shook his head in amusement and turned away. Next to him, on his left-hand side, was Gloin, and he was glaring at Legolas, who was talking and laughing with his son right in front of them, on the other side of the table.

"Is everything to your liking, master Dwarf?" Sam asked.

Gloin tore his eyes away and gave Sam a polite smile.

"Of course, master hobbit. I was simply thinking. Tharkûn said young Mr Baggins needed our old company for a quest. By this, I mean all of us who came here with Thorin Oakenshield. Do you know what that's about?"

"It's a matter of dreams. We haven't had many details either, but Mr Frodo said something to me about having come from the distant future," Sam clarified. "I suppose the rest is for us to guess, and for Gandalf and him to know."

"That gives me more questions than answers," Gloin laughed, "but I suppose we'll know soon enough. I've already decided that I'm going to come."

Sam nodded.

"Thank you, master Dwarf! I'm sure we'll --"

Then he noticed that Frodo was getting up and heading down the hall. Without thinking, Sam asked to be excused and rushed over to him. He bumped into him, but Frodo managed to catch him before they both went rolling on the floor.

"Hullo, Sam! I didn't expect you to catch up with me so fast!"

As he was speaking, he realized he was still holding Sam by the shoulders and dropped his hands down to his side's.

"Well, I was going to my room. Do you want to walk with me?"

"I reckon that's what I'm here for, Mr Frodo."

And so they headed down the hall until the sounds of the feast were far-off, then died down. The only people who weren't in the great room were the few who had been touched by the cursed sleep. They seemed happy. How could they not, when they lived somewhere so full of life? The curse seemed to have taken less interest in the Mountain, and its halls were still merry and full of laughter.

Yet they still avoided them, because it felt impolite to talk in front of them. They finally reached a place that was truly deserted, and only then did Sam start a new conversation.

"Mr Frodo, I've been thinking," he said, toying with his hat. "Well, there's a few of us here that all agree that it's as though we all know each other. Me, sir, I've started to feel like you know all I'm thinking about and, well, I like it. I think I've started to remember a bit of our friendship, too. There are things you do that remind me of other things. I can't remember them, of course, but, well, that's only my side, sir. Do you know anything about that?"

Frodo was blushing, and Sam pretended that he didn't notice.

"Why, they're all our friends from the Fellowship of the Ring! Gandalf, Strider, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and you and I. They're some of our best friends, might I say. I missed them, you know. Back in Valinor, I wasn't always very talkative, and even though it was by choice, their absence was -- well, I don't want to be melodramatic, so I'll stop there."

Sam nodded. He wanted to hold Frodo's hand, but it probably wasn't proper.

"I've been thinking about something else, too -- well, it's a little embarrassing, but here I go anyway; do you think old Mr Bilbo's in love with -- with the Elven-king, sir?"

Sam hid his face between his hands.

"Sorry, sir, I know it isn't proper to ask about things like this but I thought, well, you seem to know everything so well."

"It's quite alright, Sam. Well, you know, the only ones we can truly get answers from are uncle Bilbo and the king, but, well, I think they are. Or might be. How -- what do you think about it?"

"Me? Well, I think it's all well and nice, sir."

Frodo let out an incredulous laugh.

"Sam, you truly are one of a kind."

Sam frowned.

"Mr Frodo, you shouldn't say things like that. I'm sure plenty of folks would agree with me back home."

"Oh, Sam, that's not what I meant -- I'm happy you -- I mean, they -- all I mean is that uncle Bilbo deserves to settle down and share his happiness with someone. He's never gotten married and I must say I'm curious to see them together. You know, I didn't -- when we -- forget it, I'm making a fool of myself. A bit of ale and all my secrets escape me."

Frodo laughed. Sam was happy to see him in such a good mood.

"Why, Mr Frodo, have you been keeping secrets from your Sam?" Sam let out, but he was smiling.

Frodo smiled, but soon his face fell into a frown. The expression felt so familiar and right that he wanted to hold Sam in his arms and twirl him around - but that was the problem, wasn't it?

"I promise I'll tell you, but you can't know yet. You must understand, Sam -- it's not a good secret. It's the kind of secrets that drive people away from each other, and I can't let that happen. I mean, I won't. I'm sorry, Sam. I know you've been worried about me. It's been a difficult couple of weeks and I'm sorry for causing you trouble. I'm quite tired, you know. I don't mean in terms of sleep, but -- it's similar to what I felt in Mordor. Wait, you don't know what I'm talking about," he said with an embarrassed laugh. "Well, I've talked enough, then. Oh, here's my room."

They stopped walking right in front of the door.

"You mean, you really have a secret?" Sam let out. "You know you can tell me anything, Mr Frodo. You don't need to be alone. And I won't tell anyone, I never will. You can always trust your Sam, Mr Frodo."

Frodo immediately wanted to eat his words.

"No, Sam, don't -- it's not -- oh, Sam, please don't be sad."

Frodo didn't want to leave like this, so he took Sam's hands between his own -- slowly, to make sure it was alright with him. He knew he shouldn't, but he was too confused to care. He longed for Sam's touch almost as much as one could long for food or drink. That was wrong of him, and unfair to Sam; and he wanted to cry. But even though he was instantly regretting everything that he was doing, he was still doing it.

Now he was pressing a hand to Sam's cheek. Sam had been about to say something (for the record, he wanted to tell Frodo that he understood), but the feeling of Frodo's hand on his face made him make a face that you would usually see in people who were being hit by trees. He leaned on it, and closed his eyes for a second.

Frodo knew he would kiss Sam if he didn't stop himself right then and there, so he did, because despite being drunk, he still had a semblance of self-control left in him. It took him a great effort, but he managed to let go. He regretted doing that, too. Had Sam touched the hand that was on his cheek with his own, he would have given in, but luckily or not, that had not happened, and Frodo was able to enter his room.

"Goodnight, Sam," he said, and then he shut himself into his room before he could do anything else.

Sam wanted to ask Frodo to wait, but he didn't; instead, he stood there for a while, reliving everything that had just happened in his mind, over and over, already disappointed that it was over. He wanted to find a quiet corner and smile to himself for hours. As he passed by Mr Baggins, he managed to keep his cool and tell him that Frodo was in his room at the moment, but he was convinced that Bilbo had noticed something.

In fact, Bilbo had noticed way more than that, like how Sam had darted out of his seat earlier, or how he had gone to sit with Frodo in the cart, who had been looking at him like he was his sun and stars, or how they kept finding ways to be alone together despite the circumstances. He had been worried about his nephew, and that was why he had stood up to follow, but now that he had seen Sam's smile, he was planning on teasing him. He didn't think he would find Frodo curled up into a ball on his bed, yet he did -- and the poor boy even apologized for it, as though he was doing something wrong.

"I'm sorry, uncle Bilbo. You can leave if you feel uncomfortable. I am as emotional as a boy sometimes. I'm no ringbearer. I'm not the one who went to Mordor to throw the Ring into the mountain. I am him, of course, but I don't rightly look like it. I feel as soft as a worm and I can't stop crying all the time. I'm no man, uncle. No man at all."

He knew Bilbo was sitting on the edge of the bed like he had done so many times, and yet Frodo refused to look at him. He had always been too emotional. It was no wonder he couldn't feel happy when he was travelling the world with all the people he loved. He knew his eyes ought to be dry more often than not; and he wasn't stern or wise like Gandalf and Aragorn were. He felt disgusted with himself, and found himself wishing he could throw himself in a garbage can and order a new one.

"What's wrong, Frodo?" Bilbo asked in shock. "Did something happen? Is it about Sam?"

As soon as he mentioned Sam, Frodo felt tears escape him; and in a desperate effort to stop them, he sat in the corner of the bed.

"I'm sorry, uncle. You mustn't be very happy to see me like this. No matter how much I try to stop these tears, I can't do it. What's the matter with me?"

"Frodo, my lad, tears are no shameful thing to have," Bilbo let out.

"They are," Frodo protested. "They make people look at you differently, or tell you that you're -- well, I don't know. I wish I could stop. This whole quest should be a happy one. I should be feeling better. Maybe I'll never get better."

Tears pricked his eyes again. He cursed himself internally.

"Let me tell you a story, lad," Bilbo said after thinking for a while. "You know, away in Valinor is where the Valar live. You've mentioned them before so I'm sure you know of them already. Well, amongst these Valar is Nienna, and she feels all the pain the world has ever suffered. She cries, and if I'm not mistaken, has been for a long time. People who go and see her cry learn of kindness and compassion. Crying can't be so bad, now, can it?"

Frodo thought that it wasn't the same, because she was a Vala and he was only a little hobbit from Middle-Earth.

"I reckon it's more complicated than that," Frodo said with a pale smile. "But I thank you regardless. It does make me feel better."

He let his legs dangle off the bedside and decided it was time for his uncle to know everything.

"I love him, uncle Bilbo. I love him so much. I think about him everyday. I can't stop myself. But I can't do this anymore. All the looks we've been giving each other, and everything -- someone's going to find out, and -- and --"

His eyes were wide with fear.

"I can't do this, Bilbo. No matter how much I love him and how much I want to marry him. I do want to marry him, uncle, I really do -- but I can't. And it's not just that. He was married to a woman named Rosie Cotton, and he loved her, and they had children. I have to bring her to Valinor with us when we go back to the Shire one last time. That's what Sam would want. I don't rightly know what I'm going to do. If I bring her back to Valinor, he won't have to take off his ring, and they'll be together forever. I don't know what I'll do then. Even if he doesn't remember her, or if by some miracle he loves me in this dream, well, I still have to bring her back, because he loves her, and they were happy. He only came to us when she died, you know. He doesn't love me."

Bilbo didn't understand everything, but he gently squeezed Frodo's shoulder to let him know that he was there.

"Perhaps he's moved on," Bilbo suggested. "It's been hundreds of years, has it not?"

"He hasn't taken off his ring," Frodo repeated. "He still talks about her, and -- he's had so many children with her, I can't see how he could move on so fast. And it's Sam alright. He never gives up on anyone. I don't think he would say no to seeing her again if he had a choice. During our first journey, I started to feel as though he felt something for me, but then he married Rosie, and even if she really was his second choice, she was still the mother of his children and his wife of many years. He wouldn't throw that away. Not Sam."

Frodo shook his head.

"I should like some alone time now, to think about everything. Thank you for coming to talk to me, uncle Bilbo."

Bilbo said something to him, and it was probably very sweet, but Frodo wasn't listening. As soon as his uncle closed the door, Frodo blew out the lights and hid himself under the blanket, but despite all his best efforts, he couldn't fall asleep, thus he was stuck reliving his memories over and over again in thought until he couldn't take it anymore and sat up on his bed. He wanted to knock on the wall, but he didn't.

When morning came, Frodo had come to a conclusion. There was nothing else he could do that would be fair to Sam. He was going to bring Rosie back.


	17. Dale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending more time in the Lonely Mountain, the gang heads off to Dale.

There was a pit in his stomach, and tears in his eyes, but it was time to get up, so Frodo did. He found the little donkey on his doorstep, but no trace of Sam.

"Well, my little friend, it's just you and me now," Frodo let out.

He reminded him of what Bilbo had told him about Beorn's animals: so smart-looking that it felt like they would start talking at any second. The donkey sniffled and looked at him with these penetrating eyes of his. Frodo took that as him asking to be pet, so he did. Were donkeys supposed to purr? This one was.

"I hope you like it here, little beast, because we'll be staying in Erebor for a few days. Do you like the mountain? Oh, I wonder what's happened to Gollum. Is he still in Mordor? I dearly hope not. He was a confusing one, but he had his moments. I wish he had survived the journey. Perhaps he would've even been allowed to come to Valinor with us, and there he would've been healed."

The donkey moved one of his ears.

"Of course we're going to go get him."

Then came Sam's footsteps down the hall. Frodo turned to greet him and noticed that he had bits of hay sticking out of his hair and his clothes.

"Mr Frodo! And you! There you are!" 

"Good morning, Sam! Did you sleep in the stables?" Frodo joked, but he was worried.

"I couldn't find my room yesterday, and the donkey was there, and I thought he would lead me to it but he went to the stables. The one time I would've rather found him somewhere else! Anyway, I was so tired that I didn't mind it that much and slept there. And now he's given me the slip again!"

He frowned at the donkey, but soon enough, he bent down to pet him.

"Brave little thing. I bet you were tired, too. And you led me to Frodo, so that's not bad."

"My poor Sam, you slept in the stables?"

"Don't worry about me, Mr Frodo. It was quite comfortable, actually."

Frodo smiled, even though his heart still ached from his decision. He didn't need to say anything, though, because they were interrupted by Legolas's distinctive laugh. They followed the sound and found their friend sitting on a stool in a room that looked like the main room of an inn, desperately trying to laugh quietly. Gimli was sitting next to him. Upon seeing the hobbits, Legolas raised a hand to his mouth.

"I'm so very sorry, have I woken you up?" he let out, but even though he looked genuinely worried, he couldn't stop his laughter. "I'm so sorry, it's -- I'm -- It's nothing," he managed to say. "We were just -- we were talking -- and…"

He looked at Gimli and started to laugh again. Legolas ended up with his head on the counter, with his shoulders still shaken up by occasional giggles. The hobbits started to laugh, too, even though they didn't know what was going on. Gimli was quite unhelpful, as he was also laughing. He patted the Elf on the back and said nothing else. The Fellowship never ended up learning what had happened in its entirety, but during the rest of their trip, Legolas and Gimli would sometimes look at each other and burst into laughter again.

Legolas and Gimli spent the rest of the day together; and sometimes, Frodo would catch a glimpse of them walking together and talking about something. Fast friends they had become, just like the first time.

They found Gandalf talking with the king, with Pippin looking around the throne-room and looking otherwise very bored. Frodo assumed that Gandalf was forcing him to attend their meeting as payback for throwing those rocks at him. Luckily, Pippin managed to escape, and they found him a little while later by the door, shoving pebbles in his pockets. He then went to join Merry, who was looking at snails with Aragorn and Arwen. Arwen was in the process of describing everything she knew about snails, and she held one in her hand like she would hold a very precious gem. The snail looked very happy to be there, and Frodo was convinced that it was listening to her speech as well. After deciding that it was just as boring as the meeting, Pippin decided to throw rocks at Aragorn. He ended up having to run away after Aragorn found rocks of his own and decided to fight back.

Frodo had meant to go see what Bilbo was doing next; he was in the banquet room, but Sam held him back by the hand as he was about to enter. Frodo felt his heart smack around in his chest. He turned around. Why was Sam looking at him like that?

"I was thinking," he let out shyly. "Well, I was thinking that perhaps -- well, if you want to, that is -- we could maybe just, er, stay here. I mean, not here, but -- well, I don't know."

Frodo decided that the donkey was to blame for this turn of events.

"Of course," Frodo said in a very bad attempt at sounding casual. "We could, er, go back to where the donkey was -- I mean, by my room -- well, not in it -- you know what I mean. It was quiet over there."

He supposed it didn't change anything. He would bring Rosie back regardless of what happened between Sam and him, and hopefully, nothing would happen. So they turned back and found the donkey, who was sitting on the floor like no time had passed at all. Frodo started to get nervous when he realized that Sam hadn't let go of his hand. This was going to turn out to be a mistake, was it not? They both sat down on the floor, and Frodo started to doubt his resolve.

"Say, Mr Frodo, we spent a lot of time alone together back in the day, didn't we?"

Frodo looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Yes, I mean, I suppose we did," he stammered.

Lo and behold, he wanted to kiss Sam again. Of course he did. There wasn't a second in his life where he didn't act like his own antagonist.

"I've started to remember bits and pieces of it."

"Gollum was there, too, if you're talking about Mordor," Frodo replied, and he found that it was easier to keep his cool today.

"Well, still," Sam said, and he leaned against the wall. "I don't know why, but I don't like that name, and that's a fact."

"You never did like him," Frodo agreed.

He didn't understand why, but the memories of that part of the trip brought sad tears to his eyes.

"But you did, I bet," Sam smiled.

"What gave it away?" Frodo laughed despite himself.

"Well, nothing, I just figured, well, you're such a good soul, and I bet there isn't anyone you don't like. I wonder who he was, though."

"A poor soul consumed by the Ring's power for longer than the Shire's been there, I think. He used to be a little bit like us, but weaker of will he was, and the Ring took to him like a fly on honey. He couldn't get it out of his head after he lost it. He's the one who wore it before uncle Bilbo; he found it in Gollum's cave. He stole back the Ring from me and fell into Mount Doom to his death, and, well -- I reckon that as wretched and miserable as he was, well, he didn't deserve it. He was corrupted by its will. Just like Boromir, and Bilbo, and even me in the end. We might see him along the way."

Frodo shook his head.

"I must admit that I don't like talking about it. It's one of the only topics we disagree on."

"Well then, since it's all in the past anyway, what do you say to forgetting about it?"

"I would say that it's a bright idea, my dear Sam."

Sam blushed, then he hummed thoughtfully. Frodo tried not to dwell on that first part.

"You didn't call me that very often before. I mean, of course, I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong, I just -- I'm curious is what I am."

"I suppose I like calling you that," Frodo answered warily."

He looked away and searched for another conversation topic, but he soon started to feel ashamed. This wasn't the same easy companionship as it had been just yesterday. That was his fault, though, wasn't it? Frodo cursed himself internally. This was even worse than before.

He squeezed Sam's hand, because nothing else felt right. His friend squeezed back; and when Frodo looked at him, Sam gave him a smile. Frodo decided that pushing back his feelings until they disappeared wasn't worth it. Sam's companionship was close to being the only thing that made him happy still, and in either a moment of clarity or of poorly-made reasoning, he decided to enjoy it while it lasted. Maybe he would go settle down in another part of the island after Rosie arrived, or leave it altogether, or… Well, he would see. Right now, he wanted to kiss Sam, and even if he wasn't going to do it, he was planning on enjoying the warmth of the feeling.

There was nobody else in the hallway, save for the donkey, so Frodo started to stroke Sam's hand with his thumb. He thought that if he kissed Sam right now, nobody would know. He could feel his face turning red.

"You know, Sam, once this is all over, I'm -- sorry. Forget it."

"What is it, Mr Frodo?" Sam pressed on.

Frodo turned to look at him and knew he was on the verge of kissing him (although he stopped himself). He looked at Sam's face, feeling like it was the only good thing left in his life with all the wretched things going on, and he didn't know how that made him feel because he had never felt it before. He was perhaps scared, or soothed, or angry -- or perhaps he wanted to build upon that, to make Sam his whole world until the real one made sense. He wanted to reach out to touch his cheek again, but he was scared of what Sam would do.

"I'll bring your wife back to you," he heard himself say. "So she and you can enjoy a good life in Valinor with the elves and everything."

Despite his sadness, there was some sort of peace in the words he was saying. They truly would be happy, and Frodo wouldn't need to worry about Sam anymore. They would keep each other happy, and Frodo would be able to leave and go explore some other island, perhaps, or new sides of this one. Or perhaps… no, he wasn't ready to admit that to himself.

Then he finally realized that he had said that thing about Rosie out loud, and after his initial worry, he decided that it was alright. He had to tell Sam eventually: why not now? It would make him happy, or perhaps a little sad, but he would end up remembering his life and looking forward to seeing her again and talking about their children and everything.

He didn't want to look into Sam's eyes. He feared they would be angry, or confused, or hurt. But Sam was seldom, if ever, angry at him, wasn't he? Frodo squeezed his hand tighter, and he felt his heart beat faster. 

"Oh," Sam let out, and in a small corner of his mind, he suddenly understood how Frodo was feeling: empty, and confused, and tortured, with your head all tight and uncomfortable-feeling. "I -- that's a lot. I'm… wow."

Sam let his head rest on the wall, but he couldn't look away from his friend. Frodo felt his body become more and more empty and unfeeling, and the knot in his head grew tighter and tighter, until he reached out with his other hand to hold Sam's -- well, other hand. He couldn't look at him, and he didn't know why he was still acting like he was in a functional state when his body felt like cold, fuzzy snow and he could barely feel any of it. Was Sam sad? Why? It made no sense. Frodo struggled to find something to say.

"Sam, I just want you to be happy. No matter why, or how -- it doesn't matter. I just want you to have a nice, relaxing life with the woman you pledged your life to. And maybe you'll have more children until the Undying Lands become full of little hobbit-lads and hobbit-lasses running around and screaming and confusing all these serious Elves. Wouldn't that make you happy?"

It was hardly fair, Sam thought, that he was supposed to think rationally when Frodo was holding his hands and looking at him with such intensity. Unfair and tempting, although Sam would’ve never used such a word. Now he was trying to find something to answer to all the strange things Frodo had just said, but he couldn’t find anything. All words escaped him in that moment. Then he thought about what Frodo had just said, and memories flooded him like an angry river. Sitting next to Frodo on a bench and trying to read his book from there, holding Rosie’s hand, trying to stay calm as his children ran around the fireplace and went dangerously close to it -- reading from a red book and crying, then, for some reason, looking at the ring on his finger. Frodo wasn't in his memories anymore. There was only Rosie and the children. Did he say why?

It all confused Sam, and he thought to himself that he would like to have time to think about it all. The memories themselves were clear, but the way he was feeling about it, well, that was another matter entirely. It all made sense now: his thirteen children, Rosie who was growing old, and looking in the direction of the shore, hoping for something to appear despite everything. Frodo had talked about a boat, and about how the Undying Lands were away at sea. And he had gone away without Sam -- right?

"You left after Rosie and I got married, and now you're bringing her back. Did… are you planning on leaving again?"

"Sam, it’s the secret I’ve told you about. I can’t tell you unless I’m planning on going away for a long time. I can’t tell you, because it’ll break both your heart and mine, and if it’s not going to end well, then I don’t want to see what happens after I tell you. It’s a secret made for when you’re lying in your deathbed, or waiting for the next boat to an untraceable island."

"Now that’s too sad. I don't want to think about that. You’re still young and healthy! Why are you saying things like that? Mr Frodo, I’m worried about you. Please, let me in on what’s bothering you."

Frodo wasn’t planning on answering anything, but then he started to cry, and found himself in Sam’s arms once more.

"I can’t stay on Valinor forever, Sam. I’m not strong enough. There are things that I can’t bear, and I want to stay with you, but I’m so, so tired, and some days, I wish I’d never left Middle-Earth at all, with all its worries and dark shadows and crooks and thieves. I can’t bear it, Sam. It’s like the shadow grows bigger everyday. I can't do it. Not anymore. I don’t want to stay like this. And nothing ever changes. Maybe it’s because Valinor is outside time, or because I’m too broken to fix, but, well, that’s it. I’m tired, but I can’t rest. My eyes won’t close. I haven’t had a dream in months. Water tastes bitter, and meat is like dust. It’s as though the world is losing everything that once made it beautiful. I don’t know why. I thought Valinor would cure me, but what if it’s made me feel worse? Is that even possible? Oh, Sam, I don’t know anything anymore. The only thing that still brings me comfort is you."

Frodo looked down and said no more. He felt small in Sam’s arms. He didn’t even know where their conversation could go from there. Maybe this was also something that ought to be said in a deathbed. With a sigh, Frodo closed his eyes. He truly was tired.

He looked so distraught that Sam's heart clenched. He pressed a kiss to the back of Frodo's hand, but it wasn’t enough to rouse him, so he kissed his cheek. Sam felt something sparkle up inside him, but Frodo’s face didn't change. His heart broke at the sight of him.

"Mr Frodo, I -- please, don't leave me behind again."

"Sam, you don't need me to be happy," Frodo let out.

"But I do, Mr Frodo. All I want is to stay with you. I missed you when you left, and I don't want to miss you again. Please, stay with your Sam."

He kissed Frodo's hand again, but his friend had no reaction. His eyes stayed closed.

Nothing else happened that day. They stayed in their little corner until it was time to eat, but Frodo refused to get up. Sam managed to coax him into it by grabbing him by the hand and leading him there, but the incident still worried him a lot, even after Frodo did eat. He went straight to his room after dinner, and Sam decided to stay by the door for the night.

They left for Dale at dawn and reached it in the afternoon. Frodo couldn’t tell if it was the same day or a different one. Regardless of that, he felt grateful for Sam’s presence. He didn’t know if he would’ve even left his room at all had he not heard him knock on his door. He guessed that the rest of their friends had probably noticed that he wasn’t well, but Sam (what would Frodo ever do without Sam?) didn’t repeat what he had told him. Frodo didn’t really care about talking to anyone, anyway. He stayed by the edge of the cart with his head on the guard, and didn’t move until he heard it stop. He knew time was passing by strangely again, and he was quite happy with it.

Gandalf lagged behind after he had sent everyone on various missions across town, and kneeled by the cart.

"Frodo, I should like to have a word with you now, if you don’t mind."

"I’m sorry, sir, but he’s asked not to be disturbed," Sam said faithfully like he had done the whole day.

"Thank you, Sam, but it’s quite alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, then."

"Oh. Well, good luck, then, Mr Frodo."

Sam climbed down the cart and went to sit somewhere far, but not too far away, so that he wouldn't hear anything, but he would still be close at hand if something were to happen. He didn't like being away, but he had to be.

"Frodo," Gandalf said, as though it was a proper sentence.

Frodo would have replied "Gandalf" in the same tone had the occasion been a better fit for jokes.

"I’ve told you at the beginning of our adventure, and perhaps you even remember it, of my reluctance in telling you the truth about the situation. I knew that your -- let’s call it "mental state" -- would deteriorate. Now, I wanted to remind you that this adventure is yours, and that, if you were to ever feel distraught, you have, why, all the freedom in the world to take a break from it. I have worried for you -- have been, should I say -- for a long, long time. Ever since you chose to come to Valinor, I started to suspect something."

"Is it bad for me to stay there for so long, then?" Frodo asked in worry. "Should I leave the Undying Lands? And to go where? I don’t know what to do. I thought I would be happy -- and I was for some time. But my sadness caught up to me. Tell me, Gandalf, am I sick? Is this an illness that will never be cured? Please, tell me what to do! I know you don’t like to give advice so directly, but I feel so awful all the time. I wish I didn’t need to. I thought, maybe if I had cut off my bad arm instead of -- well, it sounds drastic, but it might have worked. Then I would be free to come and go as I please. But to tell you the truth, there are days where I don’t even have an idea of where I want to go. I don’t want to go anywhere, I simply want it to stop. I don't want any more nightmares, or any more pain. Gandalf, wisest of counsellors, you must help me. I’ve run out of options and my energy wears thin. I fear I -- Forget it. I simply wish someone could help me."

Gandalf was silent, but he was staring at him from under his eyebrows, and they were furrowed. Frodo took that as a sign to go on.

"I'm afraid there will not be a happy ending to my adventure. I've thought about it. We can't bring any of my friends back, because they had their wives, and children, and families back then that they'll miss, too. And -- well, maybe I'll be allowed to see them in the Halls of Mandos, or wherever we go where we pass: but… Gandalf, I think this quest was a bad idea. I can't rip my friends away from their time. I can't stay in Middle-Earth and leave behind Sam and those of us who went to the Undying Lands. And if the Valar truly intend to let me bring back some of us from the dead, well, it's not right. It's not natural. I've seen how much they all look forward to meeting their wives. If I bring them to Valinor, they'll recover their memories and grieve them like Sam is grieving Rosie. But if I leave them here, then I'll never see them again."

Gandalf's eyes were full of pity for his friend.

"Frodo, dear friend, your pain can be healed. There are places of healing in Valinor that I could take you to once our journey is over. I shall introduce you to Nienna, who was once my mentor, and if you accept her help, she will heal you. Such is my promise to you, if you choose to accept it. Today, I shall let you rest a little. Stay here with master Samwise, and look after our cart and our brave donkey. We shall return by night-time, and then we shall leave once more."


	18. Old adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pit stop in Dale. Everyone is having a -- maybe not a great day, or even a good day, but a day for sure

Legolas and Gimli had been sent away to search for "anything that might be useful for their quest", which was basically an excuse to walk around and do nothing for an entire day.

"Do you need any more arrows?" Gimli asked.

"I have quite enough of them. Is your axe sharp enough?"

"I took care of that yesterday. Tell me, do you think we really ought to be here?"

Legolas let out a laugh and shook his head, so they walked away from the smith's shop and went to sit in a patch of grass. The Elf laid his head on his hands and stretched himself on the ground. He looked content, and it made Gimli smile to himself. 

At first, they had been rather confused, for they all seemed to be equipped and ready to go already; but then Legolas had pointed out that Frodo didn't seem to be doing so well, and that the task was probably an excuse to get them away for a while. He seemed sad, which, at first, had surprised Gimli; he had heard that Elves usually did not bother caring about mortal folks like hobbits, since their lifespan was so short.

As they were sitting there together doing nothing, Gimli decided to voice his thoughts.

"You know, it surprises me to see that you care for the little one. I had heard that Elves preferred to be detached from us mortal folks because caring about those who die would be like "crying for every fly that died in winter," as my father put it. "

"Surely you don't believe that," Legolas said, and there was a hint of hurt in his voice. "There's a lot more nuance to it than… flies."

"I apologize, then," Gimli said, and he bowed his head.

They stayed silent for a little while before Gimli's curiosity got the best of him again.

"You care about people, then?"

"I care about everyone I've ever seen live, and I mourn everyone I've ever seen die. Dale used to be a different city not so long ago before the dragon appeared. I remember coming here in my youth and seeing a man sell bread right where the smith's shop is standing today. There were children with kites who used to come ask me to play with them, and I rarely did. Do you see this old man there? One of these children was his grandfather. We can't help who we get attached to, just like anybody else. I would argue that it's worse for us because we see them die faster. Maybe your father isn't completely wrong. After some time, I suppose some of us get used to it."

"I suppose Men take wolves as pets even when they know they'll outlive them," Gimli mused.

It was a rather sad topic, so Gimli tried to steer the conversation away.

"Am I a pet to you, then, master Elf?"

Legolas laughed. It was a sound Gimli found that he liked to hear.

"Of course not," he protested, but then he added in a mischievous tone: "I would adopt a prettier one."

Gimli playfully swatted him on the arm.

"Choose your next words carefully, for my axe is freshly sharpened."

Legolas smiled at him. Gimli felt something inside of him grow warm.

"We've known each other before all of -- how can I explain something that makes so little sense? You recall what young master Baggins said about us being all trapped in a dream with him, do you not?"

Legolas nodded. He was listening to him, of course, but he had to admit that his mind was elsewhere. There was something in Gimli's face that reminded him of seagulls and saltwater and endless waves. Since they had met, he had been dreaming about being alone in a boat with him.

Where were they going? Why were they alone in a boat? Legolas racked his mind in search of answers. However, he had to put a stop to his daydreaming when he reached the part where they had to share a bed in their small boat. He tried to hide his feelings, but he didn't have his father's kingly neutral face yet, and he was saved only by the fact that Gimli was lost in thought. He could still feel the burn of seawater in his eyes, and the fear that they would die at sea were they not admitted -- admitted where?

"Well, your face seems familiar. I feel as though I've found a faithful companion once more."

"I hope you are reassured, then, that I see you as more than a pet," Legolas joked, because he longed to make Gimli laugh like he had the previous morning.

Gimli smiled, and in a way, it was better, because his smile was charming -- what was he even thinking?

"May I ask you something of my own?"

Gimli nodded and looked at him eagerly.

"I've heard that -- forgive me if it's out of line -- that Dwarves don't -- that there aren't many Dwarf-women, so the men turn to each other for companionship," Legolas stammered.

"Well, I reckon that's not quite why these things happen."

"I apologize," Legolas said with his head bowed.

Gimli said nothing. He was still trying to find the right words to explain, but he couldn't find them, and it bothered him immensely. He started to carve a rock with whatever tool he had in his pocket to occupy his hands and found that words came out more easily that way.

"We don't get married just out of spite, we love each other, too. It's ridiculous, and preposterous -- insulting is what it is, yes that's the word. Ah, it makes my blood boil, but not at you, my friend. I simply wish our kinds knew each other better. This feud has gone on for too long."

He shook his head and found that he had carved the rock into the likeness of a tree. Of course, he had only been sculpting for a few seconds, so it wasn't very pretty. He passed his thumb on the leaves, then noticed that Legolas was peeking at it.

"Now where did that come from?" he asked in confusion.

"Oh," Gimli let out, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed. "Well, I had a rock in my hand, and -- here, you may hold it for a while."

"Oh, how delightful! It's a little tree!" Legolas exclaimed happily.

"How would you know that? It looks like the shadow of a tree when clouds bar the sun."

Legolas stopped, then looked at Gimli, then at the tree, and passed his hand on the little rock.

"You always start sculpting trees in the middle," Legolas said. "After that, you make little leaves, and slender holes between the branches. Then you add roots and grass, and --"

He let out a laugh.

"You usually add me sitting under it."

Gimli was suddenly reminded of a day where they had been sitting underneath a wide old tree, and Gimli had been feeling particularly tender. He had caressed Legolas's face and looked at him lovingly until something had passed between them and they had kissed under the bright sun.

"We had our first kiss under a tree," he blurted out.

Legolas looked at him, then at his feet, then at Gimli again, and decided that there was nothing he could answer that would make sense, so he shut his mouth. Gimli reached out, then let his hand rest on the ground again.

"I'm sorry. Does that scare you?"

"No -- of course not! I've been, I mean, I -- we don't remember each other but once we do, I'll -- we could -- I can't focus on anything when you're looking at me like that," Legolas accused him.

"I'm so very sorry," Gimli stammered, and he turned away, but the sudden disappearance of his warmth made Legolas feel more upset than the sudden arrival of his memories did.

Legolas took Gimli's hand and kissed it, because he was at a loss for words. They were outrageously holding hands when Bilbo and the rest of the Dwarves passed them by. Gloin squinted at them.

"Are you two holding hands over there?"

"No," Legolas and Gimli replied despite being very visibly doing it in front of everyone.

"Well, alright then," Gloin muttered.

He turned back to Bilbo with only a slightly smaller frown.

"Now what's that about you and the Elven-king?"

"Give it a rest, Gloin," Bilbo said, exasperated.

"Well, I want to know, too," Bifur with the yellow hood added unhelpfully.

"I told you just yesterday!" Bilbo protested.

"Yesterday didn't count! You didn't even give me details to tell a proper story!"

"And where did that lad come from? Since when do you have a son? I reckon you never even got married," Bombur said.

"Which one? The pale-skinned one, or the one with the hat?" Bofur asked.

"The one with the hat's his gardener, you dunce," Bombur replied.

Everyone started to laugh, except Bilbo, who was trying to escape by a hole in their circle, but Dwalin, with his bright eyes, spotted him and pulled him back in.

"We're supposed to be getting firewood," Dori said.

"Thank you," Bilbo added. "Firewood, and add to that, I don't know, grease for your instruments, or new strings for your viol, Dwalin."

When he thought of the instruments they all had, Bilbo felt his heart break a little bit more. If they ever were to make music on their trip, they would be missing players. Balin used to have an enormous viol with him, Ori had a flute, and he'd never gotten around to see what instrument Oin played, but he remembered that Thorin had a beautiful golden harp that he wrapped around in a lustrous green cloth, and Fili and Kili --

"The little ones used to have fiddles," Dwalin said. "Say, I wonder if they're playing together right now, with Thorin and Balin and everyone."

"They are," Nori assured.

They all stayed silent for a few minutes, before Bilbo spoke again.

"Young Frodo told me that I came to live in Valinor with him. That means I probably met Aulë -- or what is it you call him again?"

"Mahal? You met Mahal?" Gloin echoed.

"I'm not sure, but I might have. He lived on the same island as I did, so I probably bumped into him a few times. Well, maybe I saw everyone else. Maybe -- I don't know."

"Bumped into him!" Dwalin repeated. "You met Mahal and "bumped" into him!"

"Leave the poor hobbit alone," Gloin rasped.

"You're one to talk," Bombur laughed.

"Please, if we're going to stay here and talk, can we at least let these poor lads rest?" Dori pleaded, because he had experience in the field.

The four young Dwarves who were holding up Bonbur's chair looked at each other, then shook their heads. Neither of them seemed brave enough to say anything, until the one with the yellow hood raised his head.

"It's quite alright, sir. We're used to it."

"What's your name, lad?" Gloin asked.

"I'm Arin, sir, and here's Barin, Bloin and Bili."

"Well, would any of you care to help a poor old Dwarf force his friend to tell him a story?"

Bilbo groaned.

"Firewood!" he yelled, and walked off.

The rest of the dwarves followed him. They passed by Aragorn and Arwen, who weren't even pretending to do something useful and were braiding each other's hair in a quiet corner. Their laughter could be heard even from so far off. 

"Oh, there they go," Arwen noticed. "I wonder where they're heading to like that."

"And I wonder if poor Bilbo will survive spending the day with them," Aragorn laughed.

Arwen giggled, then looked at her fiancé with a smile.

"You seem happier than usual," she noticed, and stroked his cheek softly. "I'm glad to see it. I've longed to hear the sound of your laughter for a long time, and to hear it come so easily fills me with a warmth I can barely contain. Please, tell me what has you in such a good mood so I can make it happen more often."

He leaned on her hand, then kissed her palm and held both of her hands between his own.

"Oh, Arwen, you are not mistaken. I feel happier now than I've felt for a long time. I feel rested. It is as though my mission is over. I have longed for a sight of your face, or a breath of fresh air, and I feel as though I am a child that is seeing the world for the first time. I cannot recall the last time I've felt so peaceful."

Arwen was smiling, and tears of relief were falling from her eyes. Aragorn held her face in his hands and gently dried them with his thumb, and he was smiling wide. Arwen let out a laugh, and suddenly she was merry again. Her star-white face and night-colored hair glinted in the sunlight, and suddenly, to the people who were standing around, it was as though a star had fallen on the ground, and it was bursting with energy and drowning everything in light, like Arwen's happiness made shine the light of Illuvatar that was still faintly visible in her face despite her Maiar blood being diluted by the generations. She reached out for Aragorn and pulled him into a tight hug, and the shopkeepers and merchants that were near them didn't know what was going on, but they could feel that it was joyful, and they felt invigorated by it.

"I love you, Estel," she let out in her joy, and Aragorn held her in his arms; his light, his joy, his everything; Arwen Undomiel for whom he would die and go to the end of the world and back, twice; and he held her in his arms and said that he loved her, too.

Sam, who was sitting on the edge of the cart and munching on a blade of grass, saw the beam of light from where they were sitting about a mile away from town.

"Now, I don't know what that is, but I feel a little bit happier all of a sudden. I suppose it's magic, then, but the good kind -- the Elf kind," he said out loud.

The donkey huffed in response. Sam gave it a little tap on the flank, then turned back to where Frodo was sitting and looking at the sky. Sam felt like it was wrong to be so far away from him. He couldn't even touch his hand or look at his face. But Frodo had asked to be alone for a moment, so there was nothing he could do.

"You know," he told the donkey, "I think I love him. But there's something far away in him, like he doesn't want me to. He's talked to me about my wife, but I don't rightly know if I want to remember her. Now, don't get me wrong, I remember her warmth, and the sound of her name comforts me; still, I feel… I suppose I feel conflicted. Mr Frodo said that it'll make me happy to see her again, but how can I be happy to see someone I've never met?"

The donkey answered nothing and went to chew on some grass.

"You're right, of course, I met her, but we haven't gotten married yet or had any children. Children!" he echoed. "I can't believe it, even after so long. Children that bore my name and hers. Is that what I want?"

He peeked at Frodo.

"I remember her warmth, and how happy we were together. Is it wrong that I want to see her again? What should I do? How could I ever marry her if I felt like I was betraying Mr Frodo? Did I love her so much that it didn't matter anymore? But how could I, if I felt so strongly about him?"

Sam accidentally swallowed his blade of grass. It shook him out of his pensive mood.

"Now you've truly gone and messed things up, Sam Gamgee, and it's your job to fix it. But I don't think I can. I don't think I rightly can."

He looked back at Frodo. He didn't like where his thoughts were taking him. Leave him to marry her? It broke his heart to even consider it. Was it that he was seeing the difference between friendship and love? No, it couldn't be that -- Sam didn't want what he felt for Frodo to be simply friendship. He was happy with him, too. It couldn't possibly be just that. Was there even a difference between them anymore? Did he love Frodo so deeply that the line was blurred? Was it wrong that he wanted to kiss his hands and hold him and talk about the future together? Was that friendship? Was that love?

"Sam?" Frodo called, and immediately Sam was at his side. "I heard all of that, you know."

"I'm not -- I didn't -- I don't," Sam trailed off, his face beet-red. "It's no use lying to you, is it, Mr Frodo?"

"You've never been good at that."

Frodo was smiling at him, but his face still looked sad. He looked into Sam's eyes, and felt some sort of pale happiness in him.

"I can't believe you were talking to a donkey," Frodo said with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"He's perfectly capable of understanding us, you know. He's a smart one."

That got Sam another smile -- a bright one, this time. Frodo wanted to hold Sam's hand, but he didn't. He didn't add anything more for a while. Nothing he could say felt right. He was too scared to lose Sam further.

When Sam opened his mouth to speak, Frodo cut him off.

"Wait," he said. "Should we really talk about this?"

"I think we should," Sam answered, and even though butterflies were dancing in his stomach, he wanted to tell time to rewind, because this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

"This is another deathbed conversation. Nothing else can happen after it, so why have it now? Why not wait until the end of our adventure? I should have been better at keeping it all hidden, too. The point of being -- of all that is that the feelings and moments build upon each other until it's Arwen and Strider all over again. But this isn't how our story will go. So please, don't ask me to say anything. Let's just pretend I didn't hear you."

"I can't do that, I'm afraid, Mr Frodo," Sam said softly.

"Why not?" Frodo protested. "What is there to say? Please, Sam. Stop."

Frodo looked away at the sky again, then he held his knees with his hands to secure them into place, because he didn't want to do something rash.

"Nothing's going to be built on top of this. We'll finish our talk, and -- I don't even want to stop talking, because I know that nothing else can happen after it."

"Mr Frodo, don't say that," Sam said softly.

"Sam, whenever you speak, I feel like fireworks are exploding inside of me. I wish I didn't feel this way. Nothing -- nothing can happen. You have a future with Rosie. You'll remember her soon enough. And I know you love her already. See, I'm already trying to find a solution. I'd ask, "Sam, do you love me?", and I'd hope for a yes. Or better yet, for something to interrupt us, so I can keep dreaming. I don't even know if I'll stay in Valinor after this. Please, don't remember this talk. It won't end with a kiss."

Frodo stood up on the grass and put his hands in his pockets.

"It could," Sam said in a strange choked-up voice.

"It won't. I don't even know how we're going to get past today, let alone tomorrow. That's not things ought to go, Sam, but that's how they need to be. I think I'm telling you this because I know that I can hold onto this feeling forever. I know I will, but I shouldn't."

"Then hold onto it," Sam exclaimed, and he sounded almost desperate.

He jumped out of the cart and reached out for Frodo's hand. Frodo let him.

"Please, Sam, you know there's no end to this. Please, go see your wife. Have more children, as many as you want. Hold her in your arms and tell her you're lucky to have her. Who am I to change your life, Sam?"

His eyes were full of hot tears.

"Please, dearest Sam. Go to her. Follow your dreams. Don't come back to me. It hurts to say it, but please, Sam, you can't forever be torn in two, and I can't watch it."

He wanted to ask Sam to come see him if he ever changed his mind, but he didn't, because that would've been counterproductive. He was starting to feel numb again.

"Please, if you see Gandalf, tell him we ought to be going soon."

He sat back in the cart and shrunk into a corner, refusing to look at anything anymore. Now he would learn of the aftermath of a deathbed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry ;_;


	19. The Entwives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf goes to find Treebeard, and the companions enjoy a quiet night by the fire

At the end of the day, when it was time to leave, Bilbo decided to sit in the front once more. He was growing quite annoyed with his friends, and even worse, their teasing was reminding him of Thranduil, and he found that he missed him quite a lot. To his surprise, Frodo joined him. He looked less numb than he had that morning, or even the day before, but he was still a long way from being described as happy. The cart-ride was mostly silent for the front-sitters, except for when Gandalf was commenting on something.

At some point, the Dwarves got out their instruments and started to play something to pass the time. When he heard them, Bilbo felt tears form in his eyes; they were singing their old travel-song, but there were voices and instruments missing. They weren't able to finish it, so the four young lads took over and played a different one. It didn't have any words, but as usual, it was entrancing and mystical, and words were almost useles.

Sam was sitting alone in the back of the cart, deep in thought, with his head in his hands. The music was helping him feel better, even though he was quite shaken up. In the distance, he could see little lights trace the way back to Dale, until they disappeared and all that was left was a dense line of trees on either side of the road. They passed through Mirkwood by the old forest road and followed the Anduin all the way to Fangorn. It took weeks until they saw the shadow of the great forest. Sam felt like he hadn't moved from his seat in ages.

The aftermath of a deathbed conversation, Frodo found, was exactly what he had feared: there was nothing to say anymore. He found himself wishing for Sam to be near him, only to tell himself that it wouldn't be fair to him, and that besides, he wouldn't know what to say to him. He was regretting everything now. He still had to realize that he had put a proper stop to it forever. It still felt unreal. He thought that perhaps Sam would say something, or that something or other would prove that he was wrong. But he couldn't find anything. He didn't want to talk to Sam, and find him acting normal, or worse, friendly towards him, because that would cement the reality further.

Had he really missed his one chance? The thought of spending eternity alone loomed over him, and he wasn't ready to think about it. It felt unreal. It must be.

Desperately, Frodo clung to his thoughts. Perhaps he would die on this journey, or suddenly grow old, or his wound would reappear and he wouldn't have much time left. It didn't matter how. He knew how he wanted to die; telling Sam he loved him. Strangely enough, this thought was the only one that brought him comfort. Maybe there was something wrong with him, or he was turning out to be worse of a person than he thought. Perhaps it was sinister of him, or crooked, or upsetting. Frodo didn't know, but how could he? Nobody talked about these things.

He felt guilty about his thoughts (he always had and probably always would), but all the while he tried to figure out what was wrong with him, he felt strangely brave. It was as though his half-promise to himself was a security. It made him feel sick sometimes, and reckless, and it was as though he couldn't recognize himself anymore.

He didn't share these dark thoughts with anyone. He felt certain that they would get angry, or tell him that he was making a big deal out of nothing. Besides, it's not like he could tell them how he felt about Sam. 

Another problem he was encountering was that even though he longed to fall asleep to escape his thoughts, he couldn't, so he was stuck reliving his memories over and over. It made everything worse. His mood was suffering from it. It was as though he couldn't process emotions properly anymore. Sadness felt unbearable; so much that when he asked himself what had become of the Entwives and remembered Treebeard's sad tale, he keeled over, thinking he was going to be sick. The incident worried him, but he didn't say a word of it to anyone.

Something else was plaguing him, and it was the impression that none of this really mattered. He felt ridiculous, and weak. He was waiting for someone to tell him to man up and live his life already. The worst part of it was that he agreed, even though he dearly hoped to rid himself of the shame. After a few days, he stopped thinking about Sam, and started to think about that more. He was weak, selfish, irregular, absurd -- he was giving his heart to someone who would never love him back, and he couldn't get over it or love someone else. He was childish, stupid, immature and slow -- he couldn't think rationally about anything anymore. He was overdramatic, burdened, and overthinking things -- did he really want Sam to love him back? That would be unfair to Sam. He was a horrible, absurd, disgusting hobbit. And maybe it wasn't even true, and he was stupid for saying it, and selfish for thinking of himself like that. And why would he hate himself? He was the ringbearer, and he had been admitted into Valinor, and instead of saying anything to Sam before the dream, he had waited until there was a real possibility of her being brought back to life. And he was scared of someone telling him that his feelings were absurd -- which was a sign of weakness. What kind of person couldn't accept the truth?

Regardless of his bitterness, Frodo didn't ask for advice on that topic either. At least, the anger felt good. It was ridiculous, but at least it didn't leave him feeling aimless.

One night where his friends were sitting around a fire and telling each other stories, Frodo found that they all looked happy just to be here together. Would any of them even want to come to Valinor? Of course, Gandalf had said that resurrection was only a possibility, but Frodo had to admit that it was the one he liked the most -- well, until now. He wanted to go join them, but Sam was there, and he couldn't think about Sam anymore. He used to make himself remember their wedding just to be cruel to himself and make himself cry, so he could feel a little bit of tenderness again. He couldn't think back to any memory they shared together anymore. His sadness was too powerful and it made him sick. Even innocent memories from before the quest were too much for Frodo. It made him long for Sam's touch again, but he knew he shouldn't, or he would go back to him.

Eventually, it occurred to him that he needed something to pass the time. Again, that was something he cursed himself for not thinking of sooner. He thought about it, but nothing sparked his interest, so he took to looking at the sky. He was waiting for something -- anything -- to happen. Eventually, Frodo found that he liked sitting around in the cart when nobody was around. It was quiet and he could think properly. With a sigh, he laid down and put his hands under his head. The cart was dark and smelled of wood. It was the kind of thing that used to make him pretend that he was going on an adventure.

He would have liked for Sam to join him, but he knew it would have been a terrible idea to ask, so he sat there on his own and watched his friends get along. Gandalf had gone deep inside the forest to talk to Treebeard about the Entwives, but he probably had not found them yet, for they could not hear any sign of an Entmoot. He could however hear Legolas laughing happily from where he was standing.

Gimli had noticed that whenever Legolas was laughing, he tried to contain himself, and he found it quite sad, because his laugh was quite lovely. He found himself trying to find new ways to hear it, even if he had to make a fool of himself, or even if his father was sitting right in front of them. He found himself smiling at Legolas and wishing they could be alone, or that he could hold his hand, or other things he would never dare to say out loud. He felt something in his stomach, and found that he had missed him, even without having known him. But when he looked at his hand, it was like he could hear the crash of waves, and the sizzle of foam, and the scream of thunder. He was hearing Legolas yell something, but he didn't know what it was, because he couldn't hear him over the storm. Gimli covered his mouth with his hand, and tried to stop the memories from coming back, or to pretend that they weren't real, but they were, and he could not stop them.

As soon as he remembered the rest, he chose to forget it again -- most of it. The ending wasn't so bad, if you could call crashing on the shore of an island a good thing, but they had survived Ossë's wrath, which was very lucky indeed. He remembered dragging Legolas under a fallen tree and showering him with kisses and… He couldn't keep going. It's not that that part was unpleasant, not at all -- but he was confused. It was like he had had a full life with a man he barely even knew.

He found it easier to look at his feet now. He was too embarrassed to look anywhere else anymore.

"Gimli? Are you alright?" Legolas asked softly.

He wanted to kiss him instead of answering, but he didn't, because they were in public, so instead, he smiled at him, and Legolas smiled back. It made him think again of the sea's anger, of Legolas calling desperately to him, and of not knowing where the waves were taking him or whether he'd see him again. It was all too much, so Gimli stood up and excused himself. He went to sit on the hill and took out his pipe. The moon was bright tonight.

He wasn't sure of how to call this feeling, but when Legolas stood up and strolled up the hill to sit next to him, he knew it was a good one.

"You know, when Tharkûn told us of what had happened to our folk back in Khazad-dùm, I wasn't surprised. I had had a dream about it, and it had felt so real that I hadn't doubted it. It's been months now. It's the first thing I remembered about the future. I don't know how I could possibly explain it to them," he said sadly, nodding to his kinsfolk by the fire. "They're bound to ask questions, but I don't have the answers."

He bowed his head. Legolas's hand was warm on his shoulder, and he reached out to hold it. He turned to look at his face, but doing so, he saw that his father was looking at them. He turned away with a sigh. Legolas followed his gaze and nodded in understanding, but he didn't remove his hand, which Gimli was grateful for.

"I don't think I would know what to do either was my father here," Legolas said with a little laugh. "Surely he would disapprove. It's a good thing he's not here."

"Yet you must know that your father is in love with Mr Baggins?" Gimli protested.

Legolas turned to him with his eyes wide open.

"Pardon me? My what?" he exclaimed.

Legolas stood up and gestured wildly to their friends. Bilbo made a face at him and looked away in embarrassment. Gimli tried not to laugh. Then Legolas turned to Gimli with a bright, white smile that knocked the breath out of him. He kneeled down and Gimli thought that he would die of having the air knocked out of him by his beauty if it kept happening like that.

"That's wonderful! The sweet little one! But how did that happen? Tell me, how did you know, my friend? How did that happen?"

"My father kept pestering poor Bilbo about it earlier. I supposed he cracked. Mr Baggins would tell the story better than me."

"Oh, the poor thing! I admit it, I wasn't listening," Legolas admitted, and he blushed. "I was… busy thinking."

"Oh, speaking of that," Gimli said.

Something in his tone made Legolas pay close attention.

"You wouldn't happen to remember being lost at sea, would you?"

"Did you have the dream, too?" he cried.

Gimli looked pained, and he drew a hand across his face.

"So it really did happen."

He was thinking about the fear, and the storm, and the crash -- not about what happened after, even though, now that he was thinking about it… they really did…

"Mahal, have mercy on my poor soul," he whined. "Oh, please, friend, don't ask me anything, or I shan't be able to look you in the eye anymore."

"Oh, I only meant to ask if you were feeling alright," Legolas backtracked.

Gimli felt guilty, but then he smiled. To Legolas, there was no smile more wonderful than Gimli's, with the way it held all the fruits of autumn in it -- rich as honey dripping from its comb, full as apples who had been growing for months on the most sun-favored branches, and beautiful as great brown pinecones with their smell of bark and dust. There was nothing more beautiful than a smile from Gimli to Legolas indeed. He felt almost absurd for phrasing it all like that, but then he looked upon his friend's face again, and told himself that it was perfectly appropriate.

"Why do you think we were sailing together?" Legolas asked.

How could one love the sound of a voice so deeply? Whenever he heard Legolas speak, he felt things bloom in his chest, and goosebumps on his arms, and sweat on his brow.

"Well, I reckon we must've been going somewhere," Gimli said unhelpfully. "Somewhere just the two of us; perhaps we wanted to be alone -- or, or, or perhaps we -- perhaps we were going somewhere nobody else could go."

Legolas looked down and frowned. Gimli couldn't stop himself from reaching out and squeezing his hand.

"I remember a grave. Two graves. Three, four -- what happened? One of them says "Thain Peregrin". Who's Thain? We don't know a Thain, do we?"

"We know a Peregrin. That's the name of the little one. The small one who throws rocks at Tharkûn."

Legolas clasped a hand to his mouth. It felt as though the world was disappearing and his hand was the only thing that kept him grounded.

"This can't happen," he let out from behind his fingers. "Gimli, surely you know -- these graves looked so somber."

He started to cry.

"I know they'll die eventually, but I can't help it. I'm fond of the little ones, I truly am. Oh, Gimli, I know that the Undying Lands are closed off to most of us -- but surely, you know of Men and wolves, you must understand how it feels to want to have someone at your side forever. I've talked to Men in my time, and I know they see immortality as unnatural, and refusing to accept death as a flaw -- saying that it's a gift, and extending life is wrong, that to stay alive for so long would be a curse or would change who you used to be. There is a moral in all of this, they say. Well, what about me? What about Elves? What virtue is there in being there as a stone stuck in time while everything breaks down around you? What goodness is there in seeing graves in your mind? What else is there except sorrow and despair? Oh, Gimli, Elves can die of sorrow because we've already felt so much of it. There's only so much death we can take. Sometimes, it breaks us. It's unfair to them, and to us. But this blasted moral keeps this gap between us. Oh, they don't dream of mortality, Gimli my friend. They make themselves morals and virtues and talk of accepting death as being part of a greater good and a character trait, but it's only to soften the blow. Death happens, and there's no morality around it. Nobody dies on purpose because it fits their moral system; rather, they die because it is the truth of life, and they are coaxing themselves into accepting it with words of pride and honour, but tell me, is it not wrong? Is it not unfair? Is it not the purpose of all living things to fight for their life? Is it not why we eat and drink and sleep? Why should we be expected to ever stop?"

Gimli held Legolas in his arms as he cried. Then he raised his head, and passed a hand on his face to remove his dark hair from his eyes, and smiled at Gimli. It reminded him of -- no, he had already decided not to think about that. Then Legolas sat back straighter and brushed his clothes, as though he felt ashamed, and Gimli's heart hurt at the sight of him. Legolas shook his head.

"I think the little one has an elvish air. He seems to be experiencing the same grief we Elves feel for mortal life. He's been in Valinor, he says. Perhaps this is where we went. I hope it is. I know from my dream that I was hoping to be allowed to enter a place, and I can't see why else I would take to the sea."

He moved to rest his hand on Gimli's shoulder, then stopped himself.

"Were I home, I would be told that I am childish, and that I hope for things that are meant to be. Death is sacred, they would say. Eru's gift to Men."

He shook his head.

"Well, I'm not a Man," Gimli said.

Legolas turned to stare at him with sad eyes.

"But you'll die, too. Mortal folk see death as something that will happen after a long, fruitful life, but to us, mere spectators, death isn't -- it only feels like a -- well, to me, at least. It's all I can think about when I see Men, or hobbits, or Dwarves. How I wish these merry people could stay around forever! I tell myself they ought to, for the world would be more joyful indeed if such happy folk lived longer."

There were warm tears coming out of his eyes again. He dried them, then laid on his back again.

"What a sad conversation for such a beautiful night! I'm sorry, my friend. Long is the life of an Elf, and plenty are his woes."

For a while, Gimli sat down next to him, unsure of what to say to comfort him; then he had an idea.

"You know, there is a song my people sing in -- well, a song. I don't -- suppose you'd like to, er, hear it?"

Legolas didn't think he could love Gimli more, but then he took out an instrument from his pocket and began to play. It was a little harp that was obviously hand-made. Seeing Gimli play from it made Legolas want to kiss his companion's face, and his hands, and his hair.

Cavern deep in the depths of the world  
Shadow softer than a mother's arms  
He brought us here and we asked Him why  
Newborns we were with beards long and grey

In the depths of the world we knew not  
Grass and sky, earth and bone, sun and moon  
Summoned we had been and here was He  
He who grew us in secret from stone

Innocent we were in this far age  
Happy to live and eager to learn  
He gave us names and clothes and some tools  
Mahal was he; the smith, our Maker

Diamond and ruby and amethyst  
The cycle is turning on itself  
Crafted and crafters; made and makers  
He would be proud, were He to see us

Now in caverns deep we dig further  
Mountains we hide under, in the dark  
We asked Him why, and He told us that  
He wanted us to enjoy the world

Elves who were immortal, Men who died  
All planned from the start, their places clear  
Ents who came next were not fond of us  
Yet Yavanna His wife had made them

Lonely we no longer feel often  
Estranged from the Valar we all are  
Rare are those who dwell on origins  
In this new age we remember less

Obscene they called us, grotesque, and wrong  
A pale imitation of the Elves  
Malformed copy of Men who would come  
A mistake from a lone, curious god

From the sky came he who felt injured  
Angry was Eru in his great pride  
And Mahal would soon have destroyed us  
Had Eru no stilled His hand in time

We hid and beg, for we were alive  
Was there a point in waking us then?  
Fear was our first feeling, great Mahal  
And His tears glinted in the pale light

A cruel game Eru was playing  
Asking that He hammer down His work  
We had faces, and eyes, and a heart  
Only just awake and fearing death

The song brought tears to Legolas's eyes.

"I had no idea you could sing so well."

"I take it you liked the song, then?"

Legolas smiled.

"Oh, I loved it," he said. "Thank you for singing it to me. It's a wonderful song. I should -- if you ever want to sing to me again -- I'd like that."

He looked away shyly.

"I'd -- I'd love that," Gimli stammered.

They looked away from each other in happiness and embarrassment, until Gimli's fingers found Legolas's and they clasped together. Legolas's fingers were warm, and it felt like they were meant for Gimli to hold them. They locked eyes again, and Gimli felt a warm feeling pass over him. He was interrupted, however, by a deep sound that went a bit like hoom-hom. Everyone turned to look in the direction where the sound had come from; both of them even stood up to see better. Gimli saw his chance and took it. Since nobody was paying attention to them, he grabbed Legolas by the collar and pressed a kiss to his lips. The kiss was too short to both their likings, but it would have to do. Then Gimli ran off down the hill, trying not to let his voice crack.

"Come on, let's go see what that was!"

Legolas felt like he was going to explode. He was already disappointed that it was over.

"Hey, wait!" he called out.


	20. Concerning the Entwives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a wild guess

Finding the Entwives had been a rather nice succession of lucky events that had started with boredom. Perhaps you have also wondered where the Mumâk that had been fighting against Captain Faramir's men had gone after the battle. Gandalf too had been asking himself that, and since there was nothing else to do in Valinor but think, he had started to, well, think about it. Eventually, he was able to reconstruct the scene in his mind.

When his master had fallen, the Mûmak had started to protest, and stomp, and destroy, and he had left an easy trail to follow. The trail led to the sea, and stopped there; it would have been easy to assume that the poor beast had drowned, but fishermen and people who liked to swim in the open sea had found traces of the Mûmak's large feet breaking through coral and reefs and leaving everything in ruin. They had eventually followed the trail of the beast to its home, and there had found the golden forest of the Entwives, and word had spread until Gandalf had had news of it, and his first thought had been to tell Treebeard.

He was supposed to be retired, of course, but he liked his work, and besides, the occasion was perfect. He found Treebeard in his usual spot on the hill, and woke him up.

"Hom! Young Gandalf!" Treebeard said.

It always annoyed Gandalf to hear people call him young when he was in fact much, much older than just about everyone else.

"Treebeard," Gandalf said with a glint in his eye. "I have come to you in this late hour with good news."

"Hoom, hum. Good news?" Treebeard said. "I am quite tired, little Wizard. Do not be hasty! We will have plenty of time to share these good news tomorrow, and even the day later."

"I think that these news will turn out to be important enough to have woken you up, old friend; for I have found the Entwives."

It so happened that the Entwives had made great gardens that they had tended to for years. They were very different, in mind and in shape, from their husbands the Ents, and yet they never missed a meeting until the day their crops burned. They had never seen the Ents again after that.

Bent and brown they were, with their deep eyes and their red cheeks, yet Fimbrethil -- or Wandlimb, as people called her -- still had bark as smooth as leather. Tending to the garden with her were many more Entwives: Applecheek, with her face red and full; Softfoot with her nine round toes that made no sound when she walked; Goldenhair who had long braids of wheat on her head; Slitherwalk who could sneak around in the shadows undetected; Hearthands, whose arm-branches were connected in the middle and formed a great circle around her; Flowerface who somehow grew flowers on her head every spring, and fruits in summer; and many more whose names few still remember. Flowerface was the youngest of the Entwives, and she had not browned yet. Flexible and agile she still was, and she did not wait until the end of an order to repeat it, and plucked the apples herself instead of ordering them to fall. Hasty she was, because she was young, but perhaps one day she would lose her flowers in the harsh sun, and her hair would turn to gold.

They got along well, which was a given when they barely talked other than to repeat an order. Every year, they would however start to exchange words unrelated to corn and leaves, for it was the time of year where they would see the Ents again. Attached they were to them, even though they were very different. Every year, they would listen to Fimbrethil talk about Fangorn, the loveliest of them. Oh, how full and green was his beard after a long summer! And how well-carved was his bark where little plants would grow when he stood for too long! That year, Flowerface had interrupted her to ask if she was going to have Entings with him. Fimbrethil had launched into a complicated explanation that lasted three hours and that could be summarized by "I haven't asked him yet, but perhaps I shall". What lasted three hours was the part where she was describing how they had met again to make sure everything was properly put into context. Flowerface nodded before she had even finished.

They all arrived at the meeting-point in time, and the Ents arrived in time, too, and everything was proper and normal. Fimbrethil and Fangorn launched into their usual talk of the weather, and when she tried to ask him what she had thought of, she was interrupted. Ents did not often interrupt each other, so it annoyed her; but the occasion was joyous. Little Quickbeam, who was but a sapling, still green and soft, had fallen into a puddle trying to talk to it, and he had to be fished out of it. He moved quickly and talked so fast that nobody could understand him, and he looked like he wasn't properly sure of what was happening to him yet. He was still so young that he had not learned to take his time yet, and he wanted to know everything without being told first, but that would come. Fangorn bent down next to him, because he was still able to back then, and asked him things like how he found the earth under his roots, and what animals he liked, and whether he was ready to come live with the rest of his brothers. Quickbeam didn't even answer and turned away to look at something else, which prompted laughter from the Ents.

Fangorn and Fimbrethil looked at him, then at each other, and Fangorn suddenly understood what it was that Fimbrethil had meant to ask him. They decided that there was no need to rush things and that they would talk about it again the next year. They drank together by the stream and looked at their people; Flowerface whose path they could trace by the sound of annoyed older Ents and Entwives; Applecheek who was looking at a squirrel in a tree; Hearthands who was talking to Leaflock her husband; Softfoot and Slitherwalk who were trying to contain Quickbeam's excitement; Goldenhair who was laughing at them and made no move to help.

There were also Ents; Leaflock with leaves everywhere on him, who was talking to Hearthands with a smile; and Skinbark who was trying to find the best spot for standing in the sun. That year, they left young Quickbeam with the Ents, for he was beginning to ask about -- well, simply the fact that he was asking things at all was a sign that he would need to live with his talkative brothers and not his silent sisters, really, and since the Entwives were women of few words, they left Quickbeam with his father and his father's brothers for the year. He had been aware that this day was coming, and after his initial confusion, he had started to get happy; but now he looked sad, and he asked if he would ever see the gardens again.

"Next year," his mother told him.

"Goodbye, then!" he said hastily, and then the Ents laughed, for this was not the proper salutation.

The goodbyes took a long time. Fimbrethil looked into Fangorn's eyes and felt a sudden reluctance to leave him. She told herself that she would see him next year, and left; but many times she turned back to see him, and he was still standing there and looking at her. Then she disappeared under a cliff and he could see her no more.

The spring was fair, and so was the summer. The Entwives' garden grew tall corn and dark pines, and beautiful flowers that bloomed until they were the size of a dinner-plate. Men and Elves came to admire their work, and the Entwives felt proud -- then they stopped coming a little bit sooner than usual. It wasn't the proper time yet. Perhaps they had gotten hasty, the Entwives told themselves.

It was a day like any other. Perhaps the Entwives would have seen the assault coming had they learned the language of the beasts that lived in the garden, or paused to study their behavior. That day, there were no mice scurrying around in the corn, or crows by the pumpkins, or bees in the flowers. Then there came smoke; black smoke that rose in a column on the horizon, foul-smelling and evil-looking. Fimbrethil, who, like any other Ent, hated fire, sent Goldenhair to quench it. When she didn't return, she sent Applecheek, and when she too did not return, Fimbrethil, who was growing concerned, went by herself.

She found her sisters had fallen on the ground, their backs on fire and their eyes unseeing. There were things -- foul things with legs and arms that looked as if an Elf had been kept in a box for centuries and emerged dusty and grey and broken -- Orcs they were called, that were setting everything on fire, and they held axes and machetes and other weapons fit for fighting Ents. Fimbrethil was burning with a rage hotter than the flames they were using, and cooler than the highest mountain peak. Applecheek's face was dark and creviced by the fire, and Goldenhair's long mane was melted down like a candle. Fimbrethil screamed; a shrill, primal sound that made every other Entwife run to her in fear.

When they saw Fimbrethil at last, the Orcs screamed and panicked, and flaming arrows rained down on her. In a blind rage, she started to sway her mighty arms around, and hit a good many of the Orcs, until they started to flee before her. There came many war-cries from her sisters who were behind her, and they ravaged the Orcs' ranks until they were all either dead or fleeing.

It is said that Ents are slow to be roused, and that when they become truly angry, their anger is slow to die down, too. The Entwives kept destroying everything without even realizing that they were on fire, and they didn't have a conveniently-placed dam to put out the flames. Many Entwives burned down that day, unfeeling in their anger until they fell down and did not get up again. For they were fighting Orcs who wielded flaming arrows in a garden on fire, and there was no rain that day.

There were no more Orcs but the fire was still growing. Some tried to stomp on the flames, but it only delayed the inevitable, for it was spreading fast, and it hurt, too. Fimbrethil, under her grief and anger, thought that they couldn't possibly both save themselves and their garden at the same time. In a voice low like thunder, she cursed the Orcs in her language, with her voice furious and heartbroken and wild. Fimbrethil had to order everyone who was still alive to leave the garden behind and run to the nearest water supply.

Flowerhead refused to go and had to be dragged away by force, but she kicked and protested all the way to the nearest river. They let her stand on the shore, and she stayed there in silence before letting out a pained scream that many of her sisters joined in, too. They stayed by the water, cursing in their slow language and nursing their wounds. People far away could hear their mournful cries, and nobody knew what was happening but nobody came to see, for there was war, and they had their own lands to protect.

It took three days for the rain to come. When they went back to the gardens, everything was lost. The ground was brown and ashy, and it reeked of burnt metal and foul orc blood. Poisoned it had been by the hands of Sauron the Cruel. Many Entwives bent down and tried to find something that still lived under the debris, but everything was gone, even the seeds and the roots. It was as though the fire itself held a grudge against them. 

Hearthands kneeled on the ground with her face broken by sorrow, and she revealed an Ent-fruit growing in the circle of her branches.

"My child was going to grow up here," she said. "Now nothing will ever sprout from this earth again. Where shall I find soil fertile enough for my child to grow strong?"

Nobody had the strength to curse the Orcs anymore, not when so many had died and their home was lost. Fimbrethil, shaking from root to stem, counted heads; Hearthands, Flowerhead, Softfoot, Slitherwalk, and a few more had survived, but they were few. They buried their dead sisters in the ground where they had walked and then stood together in a circle to conduct an emergency Entmoot. Fimbrethil's first idea was to go back to see the Ents, but Slitherwalk told her that they couldn't go back without risking being assailed again, and they had to find good ground for Hearthands's child to take root. Fimbrethil agreed to hide away until the child had grown, at least, and they began their search for a new land.

Thus the few Entwives that survived were driven to the seaside, lost, hurt and confused, unsure of why disaster had suddenly befallen them. They stayed there for a long, long time, until Ulmo, lord of the sea, took notice of them. He pulled off a little island for them and moved them to the other side of the sea, where they would grow new gardens.

Only they weren't alone in this new land. They were in Harad now, and Men lived there. Brown-skinned Men who had never seen such creatures as they were before, but Men alright. They too took a liking to the Entwives, like the ones in Middle-Earth had, and they went to them when their food grew stale or the sea was low. The Entwives were not very talkative, and next to the only thing they talked to were their crops. They would tell an apple to fall, or encourage a corncob to grow fuller, or push a tree to make its leaves bigger. They didn't have much interest in conversation outside of that, and, to be fair, their crops would have been very confused if they started to talk to them all of a sudden.

Fimbrethil remembered the days of their youth, when they still lived close to the Ents, and she missed them all the more now that they had no way of going back to Middle-Earth. No matter how much they called and pleaded to Ulmo, he would not come back, and the Entwives were stuck in Harad for a long time. As time passed, the Entwives took root, and grew old, until Fimbrethil could barely remember Fangorn's face.

In Harad were creatures called elephants, who were like big, round horses, but grey and with bigger ears. There was one boy in particular who was in charge of feeding them, and he always came to the gardens to get the best food he could find for them. He didn't talk much, so the Entwives liked him, but not so his elephants, who often tried to eat everything. Mûmakân was the boy's name.

One day, Mûmakân found that one of his female elephants was sick, and he went to see her. Her belly was bloated, and he thought she was pregnant, but she looked and acted as though she was sick. The boy gave her more and more food from the gardens, but it did nothing. Eventually, she turned out indeed to be pregnant, but what she brought to life was no normal elephant cub. It was gigantic.

People around him marvelled at the sight of the beast, and Mûmakân's reputation grew along with his pride. Mûmakân kept feeding the cubs the rich food the Entwives grew, and it made them stronger and stronger, until lo and behold, another mother was sick, and she gave birth to an even bigger cub, and this one grew as big as a house.

Mûmakân thus accidentally brought to existence a special breed of elephants that were enormous and much more ferocious than their smaller brothers. They called them Mûmakil (after him, of course). Mûmakân's people used elephants for tasks like the Men of Middle-Earth would use horses or cows, but now that they had gotten so big, they couldn't do that anymore. It frustrated Mûmakân, who told them that if they didn't like his Mûmakil, they could give them back to him.

He eventually settled down and had a wife. Her name was Umakel, and they soon had a son together and two daughters. Mûmakân forgot about his anger and his pride and lived peacefully for a while.

The Entwives didn't care much for war, just as the Ents let time fix the problems of the world, but this time was different. The whispers of war and of a great power gathering in the North filled their hearts with fear. After having their gardens destroyed by the last one, they found that they were not eager at all to have history repeat itself, so Fimbrethil ordered them to stay ashore and not risk searching for the Ents this year, then the next, and the next one. No matter how long they waited, the murmurs wouldn't die down. The Entwives were growing desperate.

They started to feel brave again and to gather near the shore and call their names, hoping for the sea-wind to carry their voices to the Ents. For years and years they waited like this, until some of them started to grow tired, and sleepy, and would tend to the gardens less; and they would stand by the shore until they fell asleep. More and more Entwives grew tree-ish, until there was a golden wood on the shores of Harad.

Eventually, they learned from Mûmakân that men were being called out to war. Mûmakân was too old now, but his son Mûmakel was drafted. Nobody knew what they were fighting, but they had received news that their lord away in Mordor needed their help to win a war, and since not many people here liked Gondor, some said yes without even asking anything else. There were threats, too, for who could hope to deal with the likes of the Dark Lord and come out of it unscathed? If Orcs could kill each other for nothing more than being tired by all the running around in full armor, then obviously, their lord would be even more cruel. Soon, Mumâkân's business flourished, for the people requested Mumâkil to bring to battle, and Mumâkân and his wife were soothed, for how would anyone die if they were protected by a Mumâk? They talked sometimes about how well Mumâkel would be fed in the army, and how he would most likely be rewarded for his service when he came back home.

The Ent-wives didn't really listen to that either. They only waited and hoped that whatever was happening would die down quickly. There was no direct threat to them or to their crops to rouse them like the Ents had been when Saruman had cut down their forests, and so they stayed silent, and watched, and waited.

So young Mûmakel went to war one day on the back of the strongest Mûmak his father could give him. He had braided his hair with gold, and fear was in his eyes, but he said he would be back soon.

Mûmakân and his wife waited and waited and waited until one day, they saw a Mûmak cross the sea. It was impressive, almost glorious, to see it swim to the shore, even though it was wounded and tired and probably very hungry. The Entwives saw it and fed it until Mûmakân reached the shore. But Mûmakel wasn't with it. He had fallen in Gondor, and was laying on a slope with his broken sword-hilt under him, right under the eyes of a very horrified hobbit named Sam who was on a journey of his own.

Thus the Mumâk went back home alone, leaving a trail behind him that would lead just the right wizard to the Entwives.

Mumâkân was no longer alive outside of the dream, and neither was Umakel his wife. However, his daughters Primelan and Parakân had children with nice men from the city, and their own children had more children, and the family grew more and more until his little house by the seashore had to be expanded for everyone to have room in. The war was over, and they were happy.

The one who first heard the commotion was a little girl called Pramâkân. She was Parakân's granddaughter, and she somewhat looked like a Mumâk herself, with her long nose and her wide ears. To her, it was a compliment, even if other children teased her about it sometimes. She didn't know how to describe what she was seeing, so she simply said that the trees were alive. Someone told her that she couldn't see properly from her Mumâk-eyes, and so she stormed out of the house, clenching her little fists, and decided to go by herself.

She had always liked the fruits that came from the garden better than the ones that came from town. These ones were bigger and tasted better. Her grandmother had told her that in her youth, the garden used to be tended to by beautiful creatures called the Entwives, but they were gone now. All of them had turned into real trees, she said, and nobody was allowed to go near them, because they were waiting for something. Yet Pramâkân was now seeing great tree-men standing on an island that moved, who looked like they were very much disturbing the golden wood, for great cries were coming out of it. She grew scared and ran back inside, and shut the door behind her.

The island that Ulmo was pulling to the shore was much bigger than the one he had used to take the Entwives to safety, for two reasons: the first one being that there were a lot more Ents standing on it than there had been Entwives on the first one; and the second one being that, well, there had to be enough space for both a garden and a forest in it, and places to rest, and to stand in, and all that.

All of the Ents were awake today, even Leaflock who had not woken up for centuries. The news had woken those who were almost completely tree-ish, so that half of the island was dark with Ents of all shapes and sizes shaking their toes on the ground and waving their branches into the air and calling their wives's beautiful names. And from the shore came answering cries of great joy, and the Entwives roused once more and waved back. A young Entwife was calling her father's name, for she had never seen him, until Leaflock appeared out of the group, and he had the same mass of leaves on his body, except hers was golden and his was green. And she couldn't move her arms, because they were fused in the middle, but she wiggled from side to side in excitement, seeing as she still could, as she was young and hasty. Flowerface, whose now golden flowers had not wilted but rather increased in size, searched for the little Enting that she used to comfort and play with, like her own brother, she used to say, and that she had missed when he was away; and there was no green sprout anywhere, but she found an Ent that had excited eyes and talked faster than he ought to, and she recognized Quickbeam's face and called to him with tears in her eyes.

Fangorn and Fimbrethil had locked eyes as soon as they had been within eyesight of each other. She thought that he looked peaceful and wise; and he thought that she looked ripe like a fruit ready to take seed. When the island reached the shore, Fangorn got out of it first, and rushed to her as she rushed to him, and still they looked at each other's eyes and found each other just as beautiful, if not more, after all these years of missing each other.

"Hoom! It seems we have waited long enough," Fangorn said.

Fimbrethil nodded, and they held each other. It is said that the Ents and Entwives spent an entire year talking. Some say two, and some say four, but all know that the first Enting to be born after all these years had smooth bark, and a great beard.


	21. Of friendship and love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: dark themes and a scene with NSFW subtext that might not even be subtext, depending on how well I wrote it. But mostly dark themes. Sorry again, y'all ;_;

"He found the Ents!" Legolas cried. "Marvelous! Come, Gimli. Perhaps we shall catch a glimpse of them if we hurry enough. I've never talked to an Ent before."

They escaped into the forest before anyone could say anything.

"There they go," Aragorn commented nonchalantly.

"Legolas must like Ents a lot," Pippin commented.

Merry started to laugh.

"What?" Pippin protested.

"It's not about the Ents, you complete fool," Merry explained. "They're going into the forest to act all lovey-dovey and disgusting."

"It must be an Elf thing," Bilbo said without thinking, then he realized what he had said and cursed himself.

"You would know," Gloin replied, and he punched him in the arm.

There was a general round of laughter.

"Estel and I pledged our troth in a forest as well," Arwen shrugged.

"Elf-thing it is," Pippin said.

"Lovey-dovey and disgusting as well," Merry muttered, and the young lads tried not to laugh until they noticed that Aragorn was staring at them, and so they grew quiet once more.

"Wait, wait, wait, did Bilbo get married?" said Bombur.

"No! No, I'm not married!" Bilbo immediately protested.

"What did happen?" Pippin asked again.

"I thought you had gotten engaged," Aragorn admitted.

"No!" Bilbo protested, and his face was red. "We talked! About the state of the elven-kingdom, if you must know."

"Let me set the record straight: you went in the forest alone with him in the middle of the night and talked about -- about elven politics?" Gloin protested, disgusted.

"There's nothing wrong with elven politics," Bilbo said proudly.

"Leave poor Mr Baggins alone, now," Sam said.

It reminded him of a day where he had brought Rosie to a party -- long before their wedding -- and his friends had teased him until Frodo had asked them to stop. He remembered forcing Merry to go talk to the woman that would become his wife, and smiling at Rosie, and walking home with her. He stayed silent for a while.

"Please tell me you kissed him, at least," Bifur exclaimed.

Bilbo softened at the memory. Aragorn and Arwen shared a knowing look.

"Well, er --"

"And I'm sure you want to do it again," Bifur cooed with a smug smile on his face.

Bilbo put his hand in Bifur's face and pushed him away. Merry thought that they looked just like Pippin and him in that moment. But then came back the memory of old armor, and of great halls of the kingdom of Men, and of Pippin with his hair turned grey. He remembered Pippin holding his hand and crying, and even if he was old and bent, Merry still saw him as a little boy. He felt some sort of strange, calm happiness at the thought that Pippin had been with him as he died. Brothers to the end they had been.

Then he shook himself from his thoughts and focused on his food. He didn't feel like remembering more tonight. He already had enough to think about as it was.

"Alright, that's enough now," Bilbo said, and he started to laugh. "It's quite enough! I'll admit it then. Well, he kissed me, and that's that. Why are all of you so invested in my personal life anyway? Don't you have other things to worry about?"

"Ah, come now, master Baggins, we've all been wondering what's happened to you since the old days," Dwalin exclaimed, and everyone nodded.

Dwalin was lying, or rather, omitting some parts of the truth. They were all quite attached to Bilbo, like one could be to a younger brother. They liked having him around and pestering him about things. They were still grieving their fallen friends, and seeing Bilbo again was a sight for sore eyes. They were eager to know if he had had a good life.

As a matter of fact, they were right, because Bilbo was happy; and they were also right about why Legolas had brought Gimli into the forest alone. It was probably indeed an Elf thing.

It had barely been five minute since Gimli had kissed him and he was missing the feeling of it. It had made him remember things like their endless walks in Lothlorien, and how, when they had started to spend almost each day together, it had felt right. He didn't feel like he was standing with a stranger anymore; it felt like he was falling in love all over again with someone he couldn't remember. He could feel their bond now, and he knew that he didn't want to spend a second away from Gimli anymore.

He wasn't really planning on looking for Ents. He remembered that they had planned on going to Fangorn forest together, and that the memory would come back eventually. Right now, all he could think about was Gimli.

"I didn't think I'd ever say this about a forest, but this one is quite beautiful," Gimli pondered, and he took off his hood to see it better.

Long braids of copper hair, curly and rough, cascaded on his shoulders, and Legolas felt something he'd never felt before. Gimli looked beautiful, more beautiful than anything or anyone Legolas had ever seen. But there was something else, a new desire, and Legolas felt himself grow warm all over. He didn't know what to do, until Gimli turned to him to say something, and their eyes met. He remembered a shore, and a broken boat, and a tree-trunk.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Gimli asked with a little smile, and the sound of his voice only heightened the feeling.

Legolas didn't answer. He pressed Gimli to a tree and gave him a long, deep kiss. He heard him make a surprised noise, and it pleased Legolas, so he kept going until he felt like he wanted to do something else. Then he stopped, and looked at Gimli, and found that his breathing was coming in hard. He was feeling things he had never felt before, and he didn't know how to deal with them. Gimli kissed his neck, and Legolas made a noise he didn't know he could make. They stayed unmoving for a while, content with basking in each other's warmth, until Legolas found the feeling had returned. He kissed Gimli again, more softly this time, and Gimli kissed him back, and Legolas made that noise again. He pressed himself closer to Gimli and put his hands in his hair, then to his shoulders, then to his waist, and he kept them there. He found that he wanted to kiss and caress every part of his body until he could memorize it by touch. He closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together.

"How come you're perfect? Gimli asked him in his wonderful, hoarse voice.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Legolas answered.

"I don't think we should go any further," Gimli said.

"Why not?" said Legolas, and he gently reached out to caress his arm, then his face.

"Because we're in a forest, and it's no proper place for…"

He let his voice trail off, because he was laughing. Legolas smiled, because his laugh was a wonderful sound.

"I can't believe that we got married but now we're starting over again."

"We're married?" Legolas cried out.

Then an Ent passed over them. They waited in silence for him to pass, both scared and in awe, and heard him call out in his slow language before leaving them behind without even noticing them.

"He's not the one we met back then," Legolas commented, but then he remembered what Gimli had just said and turned back to him. "We were married? Did it work out? Were we happy? How did we even get married? Is it allowed?"

"I'll tell you when we get back to camp. Right now, I want to -- well, I don't know, I --"

He didn't know how to say it, so he simply kissed Legolas again. He understood and melted into it.

Gandalf came back a few days later, and he was satisfied with how the Entmoot had gone. Everyone was sleeping, as it was dawn. Sam had been singing a little song to himself until he had fallen asleep at the back of the cart; Arwen and Aragorn were huddled together by the fire; Legolas and Gimli were doing the same thing but in the cart; and the Dwarves were laying in various places, and Frodo was convinced that someone was sleeping on top of the cart.

Frodo himself was waiting for Gandalf to arrive. As soon as he saw the wizard's pointed hat, he jumped out of where he was sitting on a root and ran to him. The grass was cold under his feet, and it helped dissipate his nausea.

"Why, aren't you an excited one," Gandalf let out.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I had something to talk to you about."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you know, you offered mercy to Saruman a long time ago, and I thought, well, isn't it sad that he didn't take it? Now Isengard is right there, and Saruman is still alive. Maybe his soul is still in the Halls of Mandos being judged, but I thought, well, shouldn't we try to talk to him?"

Gandalf said nothing and only frowned at him pensively.

"I'm sorry. You don't seem very happy," Frodo apologized.

"Oh, I am," Gandalf protested. "Come, then. We shouldn't waste daylight."

Frodo smiled and followed Gandalf. He was glad to be able to get away from everyone today. Perhaps he would forget about all of his troubles for a while. He had spent the Entmoot waiting in the forest and talking to nobody. He had even hidden himself when Sam had come to see what he was doing. It wasn't a great plan, but it was all he could do. He was starting to feel sick whenever he thought about sad things, and sometimes, it took a few minutes for the feeling to disappear. Even today, he had been almost convinced that he was going to be sick.

Well, there was no use thinking back to it now. Frodo decided to make conversation.

"Were you and Saruman good friends?" Frodo asked.

Gandalf stared at him from under his bushy eyebrows.

"Us Istari took off to Middle-Earth together. All seven of us were good friends in the beginning, until we started to go our separate ways."

Frodo nodded.

"Are you a little bit like brothers?" he asked again.

"You could say that. It would depend on your definition. Do you mean by blood, born of the same mother? Or of the same spirit, someone whose thoughts match your own? Or perhaps a friend you've grown close to? And brothers can be estranged. Perhaps you mean someone you ought to be close to, but aren't; or a rival to a throne; or someone who copies and follows you."

"All of those things at once, I suppose, or either one of them."

"Most of them were true for some time, then weren't."

Frodo nodded.

"I've never had a brother," Frodo said, before remembering that he probably knew already.

"That would also depend on your definition of a brother."

Frodo shrugged and passed a hand on his neck.

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Hmm."

Frodo put his hands in his pockets; they walked in silence for a while.

"Did you decide to come here, or was it an order from whoever was in charge?"

"Both," Gandalf answered.

"You're not very talkative today," Frodo accused, annoyed.

"Frodo, there are things I shouldn't talk about," Gandalf scolded him gently.

Frodo made a pout.

"Well, that's not nice," he muttered. "Why are you forbidden to, anyway?"

"There is a time and a place for everything, and today isn't the time for secrets."

"It's hardly a secret," Frodo protested. "I barely know anything about you. I'll just have to assume that you're scared that if you talk to anyone about yourself, you'll end up having little Gandalfs with them like Melian did."

"Now, that's quite an accusation you're making."

"This is making me wonder what those little Gandalfs would look like."

Gandalf sighed in annoyance.

"Be careful. Your words might lead you down a train of thought you might not like."

Frodo snickered.

"You know, Pippin was right. It's quite entertaining to irritate you."

"Frodo Baggins, I'll have you know that if you try to throw rocks at me, I shall turn you into a frog," Gandalf said, very exasperated.

"Can you actually do that?" Frodo asked in a little voice, because he didn't want to annoy him further, but he was also very curious.

"Perhaps I shall even do it when we get back," he grumbled.

Frodo decided not to press the matter.

"Did you ever meet Sauron before he -- well, you know."

"I have."

"What was he like?"

"Irritating."

"Won't you tell me anything at all?" Frodo exclaimed.

"Won't you let an old man think to himself in peace?" Gandalf replied.

"Fine, then, I'll keep quiet," Frodo muttered.

He noticed that they were already entering the tunnel that led to Isengard. The great iron doors were closed, but not locked, so they were able to pass through quite easily, as they were always well-greased. Inside, Frodo beheld a great plain shaped in a circle, as though someone had carved the valley between the mountains into a bowl. There were still some trees and streams left, but Frodo could see skeletons of towers whose construction seemed to have been abandoned halfway through. He opened his mouth to comment on the state of things, then decided against it. He started to think about what Sam must be doing. Was he still asleep? Then he shook his head. To his surprise, Gandalf seemed to be in a better mood, and spoke first.

"Four years ago, Saruman looked into the Ithil-stone and was ensnared by the Enemy. We can only hope that time will have taught him better than to believe in lies and empty promises."

"What do we do now?"

"Now, we find him, of course."

"Do you think that he'll remember anything?" Frodo asked. "Will he even be properly awake?"

"He does, and he is."

"You seem quite certain of it."

"I am."

Frodo grumbled and looked at the trees once more. They were beautiful, and full of colourful fruits, but by the amount of rotten fruits under them, he could tell that Saruman hadn't been keeping a close eye on them. He was starting to grow more and more uncomfortable, and found himself walking closer to Gandalf. At least, the sign with the hand on it wasn't there. Frodo swallowed back his nervousness and kept going.

"You can't die in your own dream, Frodo. You'll only wake up," Gandalf said to reassure him.

"What about you?" Frodo asked in worry.

"I expect I'll be fine."

"Alright, then," Frodo sighed.

He was starting to get nauseous again.

"It's quite alright, Frodo. Come on," Gandalf said in a soft voice. "Let's go see what Saruman the White has in store for us."

At this moment, someone threw a Palantir by the window. Instead of breaking the stairs, or of shattering like a glass cup, however, it bounced back like it was made of rubber. Frodo watched it hop down the hill, then get stuck at the gate and roll there until it stopped.

"I'm starting to think that this Palantir doesn't want to hit me at all," Gandalf said to Frodo, before calling out to the window. "You should have aimed more to the left!"

Saruman appeared out of the window. He looked quite normal, other than his eyes, which were -- Frodo couldn't find a word for it. It was as though he was kept within a small cupboard full of books and was going through their pages over and over again in search of something. He remembered the day where Wormtongue had killed him, and shivered. Then his stomach settled down.

"Gandalf the Grey! I wasn't expecting your company for at least -- well, you should know, seeing as you were there when I was condemned."

Frodo wasn't sure how to interpret his tone, so he went to hide behind Gandalf.

"Indeed I was, and you still have a long time left in your sentence."

"It seems that I'm not the only one who lost track of time. Tell me, Gandalf, is this mercy or punishment?"

"Neither."

"Then why am I here?"

Gandalf furrowed his brows. Then Frodo tugged on his cloak to get his attention.

"Should we really be here? He doesn't seem very happy to see us." 

Gandalf looked at Frodo and noticed that he looked pale and tired. He put a hand on his brow and found it quite warm. To Frodo's surprise, he looked scared.

"We shall go back to camp immediately."

Frodo didn't listen to anything else and only noticed that he was starting to sweat. Gandalf carried him back. Was he running? Probably not. Gandalf never ran anywhere. When they arrived near the campfire, Frodo insisted that he put him down. Their friends were awake and eating.

"I'll be fine," he insisted, even though his mouth felt strange and his brow was sweaty. "I don't want anyone to see me like this. It's ridiculous, is what it is."

He went to sit down in the cart. Gandalf kneeled before him and took his hands. Why did he look so upset?

"Frodo, I shall go consult with the Valar. I will be unreachable for a few hours at most. If you need anything, ask Aragorn or the Lady Arwen -- and in the worst case, hold on until I come back."

"What's wrong with me?" Frodo asked faintly.

"Nothing, hopefully. Now stay here and get some rest."

Frodo let his head rest against the cart-wall and felt his eyes close on their own. Now his head felt all bloated. He stayed where Gandalf had left him and didn't move anymore until he came back from whatever he was doing. He was starting to believe that Sam had a sixth sense entirely devoted to Frodo, because he was standing far away and facing the other way, and still turned around and saw him. Frodo waved at him, then he laid on his back and looked up at the sky. His stomach started to burn, and he felt cold.

Gandalf came back a while later and roused Frodo from his contemplative mood. He took his hands again and looked at him with grave eyes.

"Frodo, what I'm about to tell you might be difficult to hear," he started. "But I assure you that we'll come up with a solution. You shall heal and be merry again."

"Alright," Frodo nodded, too tired to feel anything other than, well, tiredness.

He already knew what Gandalf was going to say. It felt obvious now.

"It was Samwise who found you laying on your back with your head on your breast. You were weak, but you were still alive, so he brought you to the Valar. Your body is trying to heal now, and this dream of yours is an attempt to soothe your soul in the meantime."

Frodo nodded.

"I did it to myself, didn't I? I mean, I don't remember it, but it sounds like something I would do."

It wasn't really a question.

"We think so, yes," Gandalf said, and his voice was strange.

"Oh," he let out. "Don't be sad, Gandalf. You know, this isn't so bad, as far as dreams go. That would also explain the nausea and the -- well, mostly the nausea."

Gandalf shook his head.

"The nausea isn't a good sign, Frodo. You've been unsettled and unhappy for too long. This dream has analgesic properties. If you --"

Frodo started to feel a cold ache in his stomach and put a hand on his brow. Gandalf gently steadied him.

"I'm fine," he let out, but he was feeling woozy. "You know, you shouldn't be sad. I don't want anyone to be sad for me. I mean, if I keep telling everyone how sad I am all the time, it'll make them sad, too. And I know I've been so sad that -- well, I don't rightly think anyone who could read my thoughts would rightly like it. They would think it's quite dark and heavy -- like a burden, if you understand me."

He was starting to feel strange now, almost warm. He didn't know if it was a good feeling or not. Gandalf took him in his arms like he was holding a child, and gently removed the hair that was stuck to his forehead. Frodo closed his eyes and fell in a state that could almost be called sleep, but was more close perhaps to being on the edge of it but still having a voice in your head. He felt drops of something falling on his face and thought it was rain, but they were tears. And then he heard a sound, and recognized Gandalf's voice.

A Elbereth Gilthoniel   
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, sí nef aearon!

A Elbereth Gilthoniel  
o menel palan-díriel,  
le nallon sí di'nguruthos!  
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!

Then Gandalf bent down, and he kissed his brow. Frodo felt comforted, and his aching stopped.

"There's no need to sing this just for me," Frodo protested faintly.

"There is, dear friend," said Gandalf, and Frodo chose not to argue.


	22. Wormtongue, un-wormed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shut up there's no summary

When Frodo didn't come to eat, the company grew worried. Sam was especially upset, and after a while, he couldn't take it anymore.

"One of us should go see if Frodo's alright," he explained.

When he arrived, he found his friend huddled under a blanket, with Gandalf watching over him. He couldn't see the wizard's face, but he knew that something was wrong. He lifted himself on his toes and saw that Frodo looked like he was in pain. His breathing was labored, and he was clutching his head.

"Gandalf? What's wrong?" Sam let out in a scared voice.

"Samwise, you should turn back and tell the others not to disturb us. Don't disturb Frodo."

"Sam?" Frodo called in a faint voice.

Sam dodged the wizard and ran to his friend's side. Frodo reached out to hold his hand, but his face clenched.

"Sam, don't leave, please," he let out, and he turned his head so Sam wouldn't see his tears.

He didn't move for a while, because his chest felt like it was on fire, then his head, then he found that he was shaking again.

"Samwise, go -- right now," Gandalf ordered.

He turned to look at him, and his eyes looked so full of various emotions that they scared Sam into obedience. He muttered something and ran off. Frodo felt a wave of cold pain hit his back, then the warmth came back. He could feel that Sam was gone.

"Why did you tell Sam to leave?" Frodo said, but even mentioning his name made him feel worse.

Gandalf steadied him, and his hand was warm. It soothed Frodo, and he let his head rest on the cart-floor. He felt exhausted.

"You're not ready yet."

"I should," Frodo protested, and his face went numb. "It's Sam."

"He'll come back when you're strong enough to see him."

He was so used to swallowing back his symptoms that he tried to keep speaking despite the fact that he felt like he was fainting. He held Gandalf's hand tighter.

"Gandalf, I'm scared" he let out. "What's wrong with me? Am I going to die?"

"We can only hope. Yet my heart tells me that you will live, Frodo."

Frodo felt like he was burning up. He sat up and looked at his feet, but he wasn't sick. Now he only felt numb. It was as though he was fading. Gandalf held his hand and pressed it to his brow.

"I'll tell you something about myself like you've been asking: I'm scared, too," Gandalf murmured.

Frodo felt confused. His first thought was "Well, that's absurd." Not that Gandalf had no right to be scared (in fact, he felt quite flattered that he had chosen to tell him about it), but, well, he was convinced that Gandalf was lying to him simply to make him feel better.

"Don't be, Gandalf. Great men like you aren't scared of anything. Why be scared for one person when you've met so many? What makes me special? Why did the Valar choose to heal me? What did I ever do for them?"

He felt weaker by the second, so Gandalf helped him lay down again.

"Frodo, the Valar love you," he said.

"They don't," Frodo protested.

Gandalf thought for a second, then looked at Frodo. He was pale and sweating, but there was still some fight left in him, even if he was closing his eyes shut as though another wave of pain hit him.

"Then believe that I love you," Gandalf said simply.

Frodo muttered that he didn't believe that's either, but something inside of him was pleased and felt better.

"Am I dying like the Elves are? Of sadness, I mean? What's wrong with me? Why can't I talk as much as I want to anymore? Where's my strength?"

His head felt like it was stuffed full and about to crack open. It wasn't painful, but it was scary.

"Tell me at least I had a good reason. Please, tell me it wasn't just Sam. Plenty of people go through that. I'm not the only one. Why should I suffer and not them? What right do I have to feel so bad about this? I'm making this all about me when I should have moved on."

"Frodo --"

"It's selfish!" Frodo cut him off. "He'll feel horrible! Why did I do this? Did I want -- was I trying -- what if I tried this to -- please, Gandalf!"

He bowed his head and looked away, as though he was begging for Gandalf's pardon.

"We're going to go see king Théoden of Rohan next. Are you fit to travel?" Gandalf asked softly.

"No, please, I don't -- I don't -- forget it."

"Then we'll stay."

Frodo wanted to argue that he shouldn't postpone their departure on his account, but suddenly, he felt too weak to protest. He let his head fall on the floor and stayed there. It didn't even feel that uncomfortable, because he was too tired to feel anything.

He didn't keep track of time. Eventually, his right side went numb, and his left hand started to hurt. Frodo felt exasperated now.

"Sam," he called, and he raised his hand.

"It's not Sam," a voice replied; it was Gandalf, but he couldn't recognize him in his confusion.

"Why did I do this to myself? I know I -- don't I love him enough to stay?"

"That's not quite how it works, Frodo," said the voice.

"Sam'll never love me now," Frodo muttered, and his head started to hurt again.

He started to ask for Sam again until he realized what he was doing, but for some reason, he couldn't stop calling his name. He felt as though he wasn't in control of his own body anymore, so he clutched himself to master it better, and closed his eyes.

"I'm tired. I wish I were someplace better. Not here. Away. Somewhere I could feel this pain without feeling like I'm going to crash down. I wish it could hurt without breaking my body. What's wrong with me? I don't want to go like an Elf. Then it has no meaning. What did I do to myself? Someone, please, tell me. I want to know."

"There is no way to die in Valinor unless you search for it," said someone. "You cooked your own poison and drank it."

Frodo imagined it, and he felt quite neutral about it. For some reason, his main concern was that the poison must have been very difficult to swallow, because of its gooey texture.

"That's not too bad," Frodo said. "I would like to know what it feels like. I know it's wrong, but I want to know. I'm going to die here, in pain, now."

"Frodo, you're not dying," said the voice again.

"Sam, I'm tired."

Then Frodo felt something familiar, and he dared to hope.

"Sam, are you actually here?" he asked.

"I'm right here, Mr Frodo," he heard his friend say.

Frodo smiled. It felt like they hadn't talked in ages.

"Sam," he let out happily. "Please, don't leave this time."

"I never meant to."

He felt Sam's hands wrap around his own, and for a moment he felt happy; but then he felt ashamed. The shame brought another wave of pain until he found he could barely see, even if his eyes were open.

"Sam, are you still there?" he asked.

"I'm right next to you, Mr Frodo."

"I can't feel your hand, and your voice seems faint."

He couldn't feel it, but Sam was stroking his brow, and his eyes were full of tears.

"Hold on, Mr Frodo -- we'll figure something out. I'm not moving an inch, I promise you. Not even to get food this time. I don't care. I only want to see you on your feet again. Please, Mr Frodo, wake up again."

He felt warmth on his knees, and cold tears on his hands. Then suddenly he breathed, and the sun was shining, and Sam was holding his hands and pressing his forehead to Frodo's knee like he was praying.

Frodo reached out and placed a hesitant hand in his hair. Immediately, Sam was holding him in his arms, whispering his name over and over. It was the first thing he was feeling in a while. Frodo found that Sam was warm, and tangible, and he didn't feel like he was going to phase through him.

Then he took Sam's hands between his own and bowed his head like a servant begging for his master's mercy. He felt Sam's tears fall on his hand.

"Please, stand up, master. Please, see the light and the banners around us. Look at the beauty of Rohan. Please be sad no more, Frodo, I'm begging you. I can't stay here on my own."

"Rohan?" Frodo repeated, and he slowly stood up.

He could faintly see dark grass against a pale blue sky. He tried to say something, then didn't.

"Sam, no matter what I say or think, I get worse. I feel horrible regardless of my choices."

He found that he was barely able to breathe for a second, but then he was fine again.

"Sam, I can't breathe properly," Frodo admitted. "Oh, but I should be talking to Gandalf. This isn't your problem -- neither is it his, actually. Oh, what's wrong with me? I don't want to hurt anyone, but yet I feel like I'll end up contradicting myself. I wish I was gone and all of this was behind me. And I wish I could know that you were happy, or will be, or are -- regardless of the time. I'm sorry. You should go. I'll ask Gandalf to come back."

"I'm not leaving you here, Mr Frodo."

Frodo sighed, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips.

"You're so stubborn," he said dreamily, like it was a compliment. "Tell me, where are we? And where's your hand? I can't feel it anymore."

"It's on your brow, Mr Frodo, but I'll hold your hand again now.

Frodo pressed a kiss to Sam's hand.

"Please, don't let go," he let out.

"I won't," Sam promised.

Sam's tears once more fell on his hand, and his arm, and his face, then he felt Sam's other hand on his cheek. 

There was a faint ache in his stomach now, and his forehead was sweaty, but he tried to sit up anyway. The simple movement burned him.

"Where are we?" he asked, because he didn't recognize anything.

There were rows of beds, but they were all empty. He squeezed Sam's hand. He felt scared now. His stomach started to burn, but he swallowed it back.

"We're in Rohan, sir, in a house of healing."

"Rohan? Oh, no -- but they can't see me like this. They'll bring me here as a sick man -- what if Pippin sees me? What shall I say to him?"

Sam pressed his hand against his lips. There were tears in his eyes, and had been for too long.

"I'm sorry, sir. It wasn't my decision, I promise."

Frodo reached out and took the hand that still caressed his face, and he kissed it, and felt warm -- then he felt numb. He could feel Sam's warmth, and his hand on his face.

"How did we get here? I have no memory of our voyage."

Tears fell on his hands again. He touched Sam's hand. It was warm.

"Sam," he let out. "It's alright."

"But it's not, sir, it couldn't be worse," Sam replied.

"It could be," Frodo said, then he squeezed Sam's hand. "I only ask that you stay."

"I don't care about anything else," Sam promised.

Frodo closed his eyes. He knew that he ought to be happy, but he felt tired. When he spoke, he found that his eyelids were drooping.

"What happened? How did we get here?"

"Lord Wormtongue greeted us at the border and guided us here. I don't know where Gandalf is, but I expect he isn't too far."

Frodo didn't answer anything for a while. He felt like laughing.

"How's Lord Wormtongue?" he asked.

Sam didn't understand why he was amused, but he didn't care, because it was good to see him laugh.

"He's over there, sir, and to tell you the truth, he's been watching us since we arrived. I haven't left your side," he noted, and he wasn't quite sure why, but he wanted Frodo to know he had been there.

He kissed Frodo's hand.

"Sam, please, if you could ask him to come over to talk," Frodo let out.

His ears rumbled uncomfortably at the sudden noise, but then it was over, and the Lord was coming over to them. Frodo sat up and found that he could see a little bit better. His face was grave, and he looked noble -- much less, well, wormey. He nodded and knelt by Frodo's side. Frodo tried to say something, but he only managed to let out a laugh. He cursed his own inability to form sentences and looked to Sam in panic. Sam gently caressed Frodo's brow before turning to Wormtongue.

"Thank you for taking the time to come see us. It pleases us -- it does, sir."

"Of course," Wormtongue said. "It pleases us too to receive travellers -- even more so when they are in good condition. Our good king Théoden is adamant on helping the poor souls who come to us for help, and I couldn't agree more."

Frodo remembered the Elven-king's sad face as they left Mirkwood a few months ago.

"King Thranduil of Mirkwood also looks for lost travellers," Frodo managed to say.

"Perhaps -- if you find any Elves at all --, you could point them to his castle?" Sam added.

Frodo randomly started to think about Sam and Rosie and tensed up. Sam noticed it, to his dismay.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I think my master needs to rest."

"I understand. May sleep find you easily, master hobbit!"

With that, he was gone. Sam turned back to Frodo. Frodo wanted to stroke his cheek, but he didn't. He felt too tired for it anyway.

"You're calling me "master" again. Are you recovering more of your memories?" he said faintly.

He started to feel the burn in his stomach again. It was much worse than the last one. He started to worry that he was dying, but chose to push the thought away.

Sam pressed his head to his breast and didn't answer.

He still had things to say, but it didn't feel like the right time to talk about any of them. He laid back on his bed, clutching Sam's hand between his own, and kissed it. Then he pressed it to his brow again in silent apology.

"Frodo?"

Frodo sighed in exhaustion and managed to keep his eyes open. He knew he should feel surprised that he only called him "Frodo" and not "Mr Frodo," but he didn't care at the moment, and besides, he had been expecting it to happen for a long time.

"What happened to you?" Sam kept going, and his voice was shaking with fear.

Frodo turned towards Sam. He could see him now, pressing his face to Frodo's breast and holding him like -- he wasn't sure what to call it.

"You're not dying, are you?"

"I hope not," Frodo answered. "I'm not well. I don't think I ought to tell you more of it right now."

Frodo sighed again, and took a deep breath. He could make sense of his thoughts: his pain, and his despair, and his tiredness. He wanted to hold Sam close, and touch his cheek, and ask him not to go back to Rosie, but he knew he couldn't.

"I'm alright, Sam," he said, and even though it was a wildly inaccurate version of reality, he felt just a little bit better for saying it. "But please stay here with me. I don't wish for anything but your company. Please, will you give it to me? Stay here and tell me what you remembered."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't think it would make you feel any better," Sam protested.

Frodo wondered if he was seeing distance in his eyes. They had always been so close -- could it be that he had remembered Rosie?

"Sam, please, would you look at me?"

He gently held Sam's face and tilted it upward. His eyes were full of pain and warm tears. He wasn't angry -- he so rarely was.

"Please, let me take care of you, sir, that's all I ask. And let me be there for you at the end if there's ever one. I don't want to be away from you ever again -- please, Mr Frodo."

Sam kissed his palm, then held his hands between his own. He was crying.

"Sir, please. Not for one second. Not for one year. Never again, sir. I'm never leaving your side again -- if you'll let me."

He took Frodo's hand and pressed it to his cheek. Frodo smiled, but his head felt numb, and he felt exhausted. Sam kissed his cheek softly, then pressed Frodo's hand against his brow.

"You just rest, sir, and I'll watch over you."


	23. Sword-fighting lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the previous one. Also, Aragorn and Arwen go for a walk around town. WARNING: dark content, like the last one.

Sam woke up from a confusing dream of holding Rosie by the waist and kissing her goodbye for the day. He could still feel the warmth of the fireplace, and hear the cries of many children. The memory made him feel content, and he found himself wishing (not without great guilt) that he could go back and feel Rosie's hands on his again. He wondered why she had to die. Frodo said he would bring her back, didn't he? At the same time, he felt disgusted.

In his sorrow and confusion, he pressed his brow to the side of the bed. He loved Rosie, he still did. How long had it been since she had passed away? Frodo would know. Yet thinking about Frodo, even just mentioning his name, made Sam want to take his face and gently caress it, so he did, and he felt better.

Then Frodo called for him, and Sam stood straighter. To see his master's face all shrouded in sunlight brought a warmth to him that spread all to every nook and corner of his body. Frodo himself felt his eyes close, but he felt alright. He felt safe, and almost happy.

"Sam," he let out. "Please look at me."

"I'm looking, Mr Frodo."

Sam hadn't let go of Frodo's hand, and he kissed it, then pressed it to his cheek. He felt Frodo gently caress it. He found that he didn't want Frodo to stop; his touch made every nerve in his body tingle. He melted into it and leaned onto Frodo's hand.

Frodo was falling in and out of his half-conscious state. He then thought of kissing Sam and it made his eyes open wide. He sat up on his bed and thought about telling him everything. Perhaps it was time. He softly retracted his hand, and Sam kissed it before laying it back onto the bed. His eyes were loving, and tender, and perfect.

"Sam," he said. "I wasn't planning on going back to Valinor for good. I was planning on…"

He searched in vain for a softer expression. Sam was frowning, and he looked shocked.

"... dying again when I came back. I wasn't planning on seeing you with Rosie. I didn't want to see Legolas and Gimli. I wasn't well, Sam. I planned it. I didn't want to tell you anything before the end of our trip. I had -- I thought it would -- help, I suppose. I can't -- I --"

There were small tears in Frodo's eyes. He didn't know what to add. No words felt right to describe how he was feeling. As he was stuck on his word choice, whose eyes were full of tears, took Frodo's hand and pressed it to his lips.

"I had a plan, Sam. They say it's most dangerous then. I asked Gandalf earlier. I really…"

Frodo said nothing more and took to staring at the wall. He wasn't numb; this was a real emotion he was feeling. It felt as though he was grieving himself, as he was finally realizing how dangerous his mental state had been.

"I didn't think it was dangerous to think that. I thought, "well, it'll happen eventually. Nobody will mind. It'll be normal." And I didn't care about what they would think. I liked that ending. I didn't know why, but I liked the sadness of it. I liked the heartbreak."

Frodo looked at Sam, but at his hand rather than at his face, because he was scared of finding disgust in them. Little did he know, Sam was trying not to break down and cry. He was holding onto his master's hand tightly and pressing his brow on it.

"I didn't think it was so dangerous to plan this. I don't know why. I didn't think it was proper -- proper -- you know what I mean."

Frodo wasn't crying. He didn't know why. Perhaps he ought to cry. He liked when he felt so bad that he cried. It almost felt good. Well, not almost; it did, it completely did. He didn't know why. But at least he felt more awake now. He was almost hoping for the pain to disappear completely. He felt something different now. A kind of peace. Acceptance, perhaps. If he talked about it to Sam, it would only get better, wouldn't it? He thought Sam would say something, or interrupt him, but he didn't. His hand was warm, and Frodo kept going.

"I didn't kiss you because it would've broken my plan. Maybe you did love me. I don't know. But I wanted to die. It wouldn't have worked properly, now, would it?"

He let out a little laugh, then rest his head on the bed-wall. His face felt a little more numb now. What if Sam hated him? What if he told him that he wished he'd never talked to him in the first place? It made him want to cry again. Sam's shoulders were shaking, but he didnt make noise, because he didn't want to interrupt Frodo.

"Sam?" he called.

"I'm here, Frodo," Sam said, kissing his cheek; his voice was unsteady, and his hand was shaking. "I'll stay here, master. I'll stay here forever."

Frodo felt cold now, which annoyed him. Why was he sad now? Sam was being nice. He counted the years. Sixty-one years he'd been away from Sam. Fifty-nine more years later, in 1541, Legolas and Gimli had taken off in their boat. The present day was 1602. Everyone they had known in Middle-Earth was dead. Merry and Pippin, Aragorn and Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn, king Éomer. He felt sad once more, like he always was when he thought back to his friends; but there was a little bit of hope in talking to Sam about it. Yet he felt cold again.

Then he felt Sam's arms around him, and he melted into his embrace. There were tears in his eyes again, but he couldn't cry; and he wanted to hold Sam tighter or tell him other kinds of things, but he couldn't do it, and it made his stomach burn. Sam was shaking, and Frodo could hear him sniffle. He couldn't see it, but between his sobs, Sam was whispering his name over and over again and holding him against his heart.

"Isn't it absurd that I feel so bad that my body reacts to it? Has anyone ever heard of such a thing? Perhaps I'm the owner of the most confusing body in the world, or perhaps I'm broken."

He let his head rest against Sam's breast, and felt Sam's hand, then his lips in his hair. It made something twist inside Frodo. He wanted to tell him to continue, but at the same time, he knew it wasn't fair to what he used to have with Rosie. He wondered in fear if his state would influence Sam's decision. It couldn't. He had been ready to give up everything for him once. Had it been a selfless decision, or rather a convenient excuse? He wondered if he was selfish, and if he really cared about Sam at all. There were tears falling on his hair, but he couldn't feel them.

"Sam," he murmured.

"Right here, sir."

"Please, hold me closer. I can't feel my head anymore."

Sam's tears fell on his hands, and he felt that he was being held tighter. In his panic, Sam had almost let out a wail, but then he caught himself; now, he was holding his face between his hands, hoping that his sorrow and horror wouldn't disturb his master. Frodo raised his head from his breast and found that their faces were close, and he wanted to kiss him; but he didn't, because he had promised himself not to.

"Sam, look at me," he said softly.

"You could've died, Mr Frodo," Sam managed to answer.

"Sam," he let out, and he gently passed a hand over his jaw. "Sam, closest of friends. I'm happy that you're here."

Sam was leaning against his hand as his tears softly dried. His eyes were as full of sorrow as the day they had fought Shelob and he had thought Frodo dead. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to hold his master and stroke his hair and stay with him until he felt better. He kept repeating his name.

Frodo pressed their foreheads together, and found that he wanted to do other things, and he fought against his desire but came so very close to letting himself kiss him. How could anyone hold Sam's face so closely and not want to kiss him? Frodo was looking at his lips (which Sam noticed) and Sam's face was so warm against his. They stayed like this for a long time; eventually, Frodo took a deep breath and turned away. Sam wanted to hold him back and kiss him himself, but he didn't.

"Sam," Frodo managed to say after a few seconds, "where is everyone?"

"They're outside, sir," said Sam, who was a little bit breathless, and wiped his tears with his sleeve. "But they don't need to come in. It's your choice, sir."

Frodo felt guilty about it immediately. He didn't want to see anyone but Sam today, but it still felt like he ought to let them see him, and talk to him.

"Alright," he said, and he let his head rest on the pillow.

He felt weak again for giving in to his sickness. For once, he was happy that he couldn't sleep, because it would mean that he could spend more time with Sam.

"Stay here," he pleaded. "I don't care what you do, or say. I just want to stay here, and feel your presence, and your warmth."

He wanted to tell Sam that he loved him, but he was afraid of being rejected. Phrasing it like that made him feel absurd. Couldn't he have gotten over his feelings faster if it was only a matter of rejection?

"Stay here today," Frodo said, and he curled up into a ball.

"I will," Sam answered. "I will, I will -- I promise you, I will."

Sam started to stroke his arm, or his shoulder, or his head; or kiss his hand, his ear, his hair. He was murmuring things that Frodo couldn't understand. Frodo didn't mind. He had longed for Sam's touch for so long that he was almost starved for it. Sam held Frodo by the shoulders and held him tightly against him. Sam was holding him like he would never get a chance to do so ever again. Frodo was still scared that he would get angry, but he didn't. Then he started to get tired again, and he closed his eyes. 

Sitting right outside by the doors of the House of healing were Aragorn and Arwen. Their faces were grave, and they were holding hands tightly. Arwen looked at her betrothed's face and a spark of recognition flashed in her eyes.

"There's something elven about him," Arwen said suddenly. "I recognize his illness. My father once had it, and I too. The sadness of the elves for which there is no cure. His heart has been broken, and he is fading away. Only Iluvatar can help him now."

Aragorn looked at her face, and small tears formed on the corner of his eyes, but he blinked them away.

"Yet your father survived," Aragorn pressed on.

"I didn't," she said, and then she looked into Aragorn's shocked eyes and repeated: "I'm not alive anymore. The sickness took me."

She stared at the ground and processed what she had said. Aragorn stammered something unintelligible, and he looked to be in great pain; then he tilted her head so he could look at her again. 

"Surely, you must be mistaken," Aragorn protested. "Please, tell me you did not falter -- you had had a long life, a good life. We were happy. Please, tell me you did not die! Your life could have gone on, and you would have found a new husband, and birthed new children, and I from up above would have seen your beauty and your radiance, and I would have smiled, for what do you deserve but to be happy?"

New tears formed in Aragorn's eyes.

"Yet I want nothing but your love, and to have you at my side," Arwen answered. "What better death is there than one where I join you? I was happy as I went, amidst my tears, for I knew that I would hold you in my arms again."

"You should have gone on. I went, but you did not need to."

Aragorn passed a hand over his eyes. He couldn't stop himself anymore. He hid his face and started to cry; Arwen held him in her arms. Strangely enough, to see him cry made her feel calmer. Then he pressed his hand on her cheek.

"I wish for nothing but to live in a world where I can be at your side every day, not for as long as I live, but for as long as you live. I want to be your rock, your husband and your best friend; I want to sit with you and comfort you as kingdoms fall and ages pass. Eternity would be lonely, but we would be lonely together. It's all I've wanted from the moment I first met you; and yet time tore us apart like it rusts even the most powerful axes and the swiftest swords."

Arwen shook her head, and tears escaped her, too.

"I did not wish to go," she said, and suddenly, she was crying. "I tried to hold on, but the illness took me; I resisted, but it was too strong. I'm sorry, Estel. I wasn't strong enough to fulfill your dying wish."

Aragorn passed his thumb over her cheek again.

"You did all that you could, and now, fate has brought us together again. Your death was not of your own volition, and had it been, I still would be holding you in my arms, for who can blame you for feeling sadness?"

He looked at her, and saw that her face was full of sunlight. A beautiful day it was in green Rohan, and yet his wife, whom he wished nothing else but happiness for, had tears in her eyes.

"Perhaps we shall live on."

"Yet young Frodo shall wake up one day, and this dream will end. What hope is there still for us?"

"The hope that when he wakes, we shall find each other again," Aragorn said softly.

Arwen kissed him, then she held him in her arms; and he held her closely and closed his eyes as though he missed her, even if she was still there.

"Today is a beautiful day. Perhaps we shall walk in the city and forget about this sadness for a while."

Arwen looked at him, then a smile lit up her beautiful face. 

"I would love that," she admitted with a laugh, and her voice was hoarse.

Aragorn kissed her cheek, then helped her up. They walked arm in arm around the hills that day, and people thought them fair, if sad; and there was something noble in the light that shone around her, and in the way he carried himself. People working on their gardens or tending to their horses looked at each other and thought they ought to bow or something. It made Arwen smile, and people recognized her at last, and they cried out that the Lady Arwen Halfelven of Rivendell was in Rohan, and they were glad. It made the both of them smile at each other.

They eventually reached a place where they heard little voices make war-cries; to Aragorn's surprise, Arwen started to laugh.

"Did you guide us towards a battle on purpose?"

"Not on purpose, but perhaps on instinct."

"You'll always be a Ranger," Arwen said tenderly.

Aragorn smiled at her, then looked over the thick row of bushes.

"It's not much of a battle, believe me," he corrected. "Here, take a look."

Arwen raised her head over the leaves and saw two children holding wooden swords and yelling at each other.

"They're holding their swords wrong," Aragorn commented critically. "And that's a very poor defense he's got there -- and there he goes, he's down. Well done, little one!" he called out to the winner, who was a little girl with familiar golden hair.

He suddenly grimaced and turned his head away, as he remembered who she was. It was too late to leave now. Arwen looked at his uncomfortable face and let out a giggle.

"I think you were so fierce that you scared my husband," she said with a smile.

Aragorn was about to protest when he realized she had called him her husband. Turning beet-red, he shut his mouth.

"We're not that good," the little boy answered with a laugh.

"I am," Éowyn added.

The boy elbowed her in annoyance, but she pushed his arm back.

"Are you here to see the king?" Éowyn asked.

"We were just passing by," Aragorn immediately replied. "What's your name, young man?"

"Éomer, sir, and here's my sister Éowyn."

"Éomer, your defense was quite poor. See, if you attack someone by jumping on them with your sword over your head, you're leaving your entire body exposed. If your friend had a spear, you would be -- well, you would have lost the battle. And try not to jump during battle. You risk losing your footing."

"Er, thank you," Éomer said, and he looked a little bit starstruck despite his confusion.

"Right, yes. Goodbye now," Aragorn muttered.

When they were far enough away from the children as to not be heard, Arwen let out another laugh.

"What was that all about?" she protested. "You usually like children."

Aragorn shook his head.

"That one doesn't count. I met her when she was a woman, and she courted me," he said uncomfortably.

"She's only a little girl now," Arwen pointed out.

"Exactly!" Aragorn said. "It's very strange."

He shivered. He looked so disgusted that Arwen couldn't help but laugh at him, then she kissed his cheek.

"Be soothed, Estel. At least you can be sure that it won't happen this time."

"I hope not," Aragorn added.

They kept walking in comfortable silence until Aragorn heard little footsteps behind them. He rolled his eyes and turned around expectantly. They found the two children running after them. Aragorn looked like he was going to combust.

"I'm quite sorry, sir. We were following you because we forgot to ask for your names."

"You won't get them this way," Aragorn said in annoyance, but at the same time, Arwen replied with her full title. "Fine, I'm Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of -- that doesn't matter."

"'Heir of Isildur' doesn't matter?" Arwen protested in amusement.

"I'm not going to claim the throne this time," Aragorn explained.

"I suppose you're right, but you could still say 'king of Gondor'. It sounds nice, don't you think?"

"Oh, no," Aragorn protested, and he laughed. "I've missed being unrecognizable."

Arwen smiled at him. Then they turned to the children, only to find that they were listening to their conversation.

"Well?" Aragorn asked in annoyance.

"You're being quite rude, you know," Éowyn accused.

"Éowyn!" Éomer protested. "Sorry, sir, she's nine."

"And you're thirteen," she snapped back. "You know, I'm king Théoden's sister-daughter, and people usually bow when they see me."

"I'm not going to bow," Aragorn grumbled. "We don't bow between lords."

"You're a lord?" Éomer exclaimed.

"No, please --" Aragorn protested, exasperated.

"I'm not helping you," Arwen cooed, and he frowned at her helplessly.

"Fine, I'm lord Aragorn of Gondor," Aragorn let out.

"You made him angry," Éomer hissed to his sister.

As Arwen mentioned earlier, Aragorn loved children, and he felt guilty for being rude, so he backtracked.

"It's -- no, I'm not angry, I've just -- I'm very travel-worn. If you'll excuse me, I shall go rest now."

Arwen took his hand and they made a move to leave.

"But, sir! Wait, please! Will you give us more sword-fighting lessons?"

Aragorn couldn't say no to Éomer's little face. He had been a good king, a man of honour, and apparently a sweet child as well.

"Of course, little one. But in the meantime, I suggest finding someone your size to fight against. I have a friend who's about your sister's size, and he should be around your age. He has curly hair on his feet and his head. Why don't you go find him, and see if you can teach him what you've learned?"

"Yes, sir," Éomer said.

He bowed and left. Éowyn stayed there and frowned at Aragorn.

"You're younger than you ought to be," she said pensively.

Aragorn grimaced.

"Goodbye, my lady," Arwen said, and she dragged her fiancé away.

"Thank you," Aragorn breathed out.

"I couldn't let you suffer forever," she laughed.

"You could have let me suffer less as well," he pouted, but then he smiled at her. "Come now, the day is still young, and unless you're planning on playing pranks on me again, I expect we shall enjoy it."

Arwen kissed his cheek as an apology, then they held each other's hand and kept walking.


	24. Shadowfax and Gandalf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't we love a summary

The Valar hadn't sent just anyone to Middle-Earth. They had chosen those of the Maiar who could tolerate loneliness, and were able to make decisions on their own. They trusted their chosen to be resourceful, cool-headed, and trustworthy -- but most of all, they trusted them to be compassionate. Nienma had taught him well on that topic. Loneliness he had learned to deal with after the long boat-ride to the shore; cool-headed after the first war; resourceful because he had travelled the world in search of knowledge; trustworthy he was, even when his choices were difficult to understand.

It felt like he was still a wizard sometimes. He has come back home to the Undying Lands and his old persona was useless, but after thousands of years spent travelling the land under the same face, he has grown used to it. He was supposed to be retired, that much was true; but regardless of his orders, Gandalf still felt bound to Middle-Earth and its inhabitants. It wasn't only out of duty, but out of friendship as well. Now, that last part was a little bit of a taboo among the Maiar. After Melian's union, there had been talk among them: disgusted, scared, uncomfortable talk. It had felt wrong for so many of them that they had made an unspoken rule about attachments.

If course, it wasn't a real rule, and it wasn't even written anywhere, but the Istari had still chosen to be alone.

This was why Gandalf felt guilty today. It was easy to forget that he was on shepherd-duty, and not just here of his own volition. He was here to look after the ringbearer, such were his orders; but he hadn't accepted the task out of boredom, he had done it out of fondness for Frodo. Nobody properly knew why Melian had married Thingol, for most of the Maiar were alone. Some expected it was friendship, some said she actually loved him; others wondered if it was part of Iluvatar's plan and she wasn't doing it on purpose. Then Ossë had married Uinen, and somehow, it had made the matter worse, for they now knew that they were capable of love, too. Yet how could you love something so small and powerless -- a creature you had seen the ancestors of whose planet you had walked on as it was still bare? Maiar were gods, and ought to be detached from their creations. To some, it had looked like an author marrying his own character.

There were creatures and things Gandalf wasn't afraid of appreciating. Horses, trees, birds -- but some others he tiptoed around. It's not that he was afraid for a particular reason. Gandalf wasn't in love, and had never been, for as long as he could remember. He had loved people, of course: Nienna was the closest thing he had to a mother, and the Istari were, in a way, his brothers.

He was thinking back to all of that because of his present worry for his companions. Of course, as we have mentioned before, his duty at the moment was specifically to look out for them -- but habits were habits. He wasn't used to having such a mission. He usually left once in a while to go do something else, but not this time.

Frodo had been doing better since they had reached Rohan, and Gandalf was feeling hopeful, or he had been until Frodo had asked him something.

"How will I know if I'm on the verge of -- of putting myself in danger again?" he had asked him.

Nienna had said that grief and regret were powerful weapons that could slay even the greatest warriors. He had taken a moment to remember her teachings before answering.

"The most dangerous moment," Gandalf had answered, "is when you start to plan your own death. If you decide on a time, a way, and a place for it, seek help immediately."

Frodo had nodded, but he had said nothing. Gandalf knew that his guidance would not suffice, so today, he had left Frodo in Sam's care, and had gone looking for outside help. A hospital had been a good start, but Frodo's wounds weren't apparent. His body was in Valinor, and in good care; but his spirit was crumbling, and for that, a paste or an ointment wouldn't help. They needed someone stronger -- someone who had been soothing the wounded for as long as she had been on Arda -- the Healer herself, Nienna.

Gandalf went to sit in the middle of a plain. He closed his eyes and let peace wash in. She chose when she appeared to him, and could feel him from far away. It would not be long now.

He felt warmth, as though great arms were holding him in an embrace, and looked around to find himself standing in a great body of silver water. The water swirled in slow, soothing circles, and looked bright next to the darkness of the midnight sky. He stood there, reliving memories, waiting for her to appear to him.

The first thing he heard was the sound of steps. Something was running towards him. Nobody could possibly run this fast, except perhaps Nessa, the Dancer, and she was probably faster. It couldn't be her, so it had to be --

"Shadowfax?"

A muzzle pressed against his shoulder. He recognized his faithful horse even without turning around, but he still did, because he wanted to look at him; Shadowfax looked young and healthy. His coat was bright, his mane kept, and in his hooves were shining stars. He kissed his great muzzle and held him close to his heart. Shadowfax looked overjoyed, and Gandalf couldn't say that he felt any differently.

"There you are, Shadowfax. It's been far too long, old friend. Look at yourself! The light of Illuvatar is in your eyes. I'm sorry we had to part when we did, but seeing you again comforts me."

Shadowfax, obviously, did not answer, but he laid down next to Gandalf, who had never seen him so relaxed before. Gandalf held the horse's muzzle in his hands and gently stroked his face. His short fur was rough to the touch, yet it still shone like silver -- like it used to. Then he felt a presence behind him and turned around.

A mighty lady was standing there, and she was smiling. Fountains of tears fell from her eyes and fed the pools, yet she looked kind and loving. Nienna took him in her arms and held him up like he was a young child. Compared to her, he was the size of one. He suddenly remembered what it was like to feel young, and for once, to have someone he himself could turn to. He wasn't wearing his flesh-suit anymore; he was only a little god, grey and silver and blue, and she towered over him. She wore a crown made of soft rose petals, and there was a great red cross on her breast where her heart would have been. Tall and queenly she looked, for she was a Vala, yet soft as a flower she was, red as fresh blood and pink like the reassuring hue of dawn.

"Olórin, how you've grown! Let me look at you. I worried for you when you left for Middle-Earth. You have done good, Olórin, and in such a short time, too. I know why you're here, and I shall take care of it. Now stay with Shadowfax, and I shall fetch you when the time comes to head back."

Gandalf nodded. She held him in her arms for a while, then put him back down. He sat down next to Shadowfax and started to talk to him in a soft voice. Nienna looked at him, and more tears fell from her eyes.

"You've done good, Olórin. I'm so proud of you."

Nienna smiled at him fondly, then disappeared.

She sank into the water and came back holding a small, sleeping child in her arms. Gandalf and Shadowfax were still there, but they were all invisible to each other, just like every other patient she was tending to that day. Frodo looked at her, and he started to weep. It brought tears to her eyes, too, and they fell on the floor.

"Oh, Frodo, I know. I know. Come back to me now. It's okay. You're with Nienna now. It's alright."

She stroked Frodo's face until he could feel something other than sorrow, and held him close, like all that mattered to her in that moment was to soothe his pain. Frodo pressed his head to her shoulder and closed his eyes. He snuggled into her like her touch would heal his suffering, which it did, to an extent. He didn't feel like the same man he had been before entering Valinor, and it upset him. He knew that Nienna could feel it, too.

"It's alright, love. I'll take care of it. Please rest now. This is a safe space to stay in. No harm shall come to you."

"Are the rest of the Valar watching?" he asked.

"No," she said with a smile. "I hide this place from every eye except my own. It is a place of healing too sacred to be disturbed, even by the mighty kings and queens of dear Valinor."

She held him up against her shoulder while she started to trace patterns on the water. He looked at them for a while, and he could hear her talking.

"This tenderness you hold for them is your greatest strength. Don't give it away. What else would have made you stand up to take the Burden? Your shame makes you humble, but your anger hurts you. Don't hold grudges against yourself."

"I'm sorry," Frodo said.

"Don't be, dear Frodo. I do love you. I have felt every pain of yours since the day you were born, and rejoiced in every spark of joy. You are my child, and I am your Healer, and I shall heal you now like I wish I could do to everyone who walks upon Arda."

The tears in her eyes were warm, for they were new; and as they fell down, they grew colder. He looked at the spirals on the ground until he felt soothed; then Nienna put him down. There was a little house over by the horizon to which she guided him by the hand. There was only a grey bed in it.

"Stay here, Frodo. Sleep. Rest. You have been burdened for so long. Don't worry for a while. I shall escort you out when it is done."

She kissed his brow, and he suddenly felt like he was a newborn being held in a parent's reassuring arms; it comforted him, and he fell asleep.

When he woke up, Frodo was laying in his bed, holding Sam's hand, and feeling the warmth of his head on his breast. Sam looked asleep, so he kissed his face to wake him up. He stroked Sam's knuckles in a way that made his friend shiver; then Sam raised his head to look at him. He wasn't asleep at all; in fact, he had been waiting for Frodo to wake up, and had placed his head like that because he liked to do it. He felt a little bit shy about it now, but there was love in his eyes, and Frodo saw it.

"Mr Frodo, I'm so happy you're awake," he said in a voice so tender that Frodo felt his insides melt. "I don't know why, but when you fell asleep in my arms, I didn't worry. There was something magical about it, if you understand me. I told myself that it was good that you were sleeping, but, well, I still missed you."

He looked at Frodo and felt tears well up into his eyes, because he loved him, and he was awake again, and that made him happy. He knew in that instant that he would be happy to marry him.

"Sam," Frodo tried to say, but he stopped.

At his call, Sam reached out to hold him. He couldn't bring himself to do anything. Then Sam brought their faces close together, and Frodo suddenly became very warm. He wanted to ask him what he was doing, but he didn't, because it was obvious, after all. Frodo felt his breath shake. There was love in Sam's eyes, indeed, but Frodo couldn't recognize it

"Why do you always say my name like that?" Sam murmured in a voice full of badly-repressed emotion.

Frodo couldn't answer properly. He wanted to tell him he loved him, or to kiss him, but he couldn't let himself.

"It's, ah -- you know that already."

"I think I do know," Sam murmured.

Then Sam brought a hand to his neck, and looked at Frodo's face, then his eyes, then his lips. Frodo thought he was going to kiss him, and he felt himself shiver at the mere idea of it. He imagined Sam's lips on his own and felt very hot in the face.

"Sam," he admitted. "What happens after we kiss?"

Sam made a surprised face, and suddenly he was plain old Sam again -- Sam who felt shy at the mention of personal things. It made Frodo smile. Sometimes, he told that Sam did have experience, and he could tell that he knew what he was doing; but at the same time, he probably didn't remember why, and his composure faltered easily.

"I expect we do it again," Sam answered, and he was stuttering.

It made Frodo laugh, but Sam saw that his eyes were still soft and tender. He stroked Frodo's hair, and Frodo noticed that he was still looking at him like -- like that.

"Frodo, I still haven't told you what I remembered," he let out.

"I like when you call me Frodo," Frodo smiled.

It made Sam's heart fly off in every direction at once. He turned away shyly to smile to himself; he hadn't been expecting to be embarrassed today. He felt Frodo's fingers caress his own, and his desire became almost unbearable. He pressed their foreheads together again until he could feel the arch of Frodo's nose against his own. There was something in Frodo's eyes that made Sam's heart go wild.

"Frodo, can -- may I?" he asked, and he was ashamed of his own hastiness.

It was Frodo's turn to feel surprised. Sam was stroking his jaw, and for a second, Frodo thought he wouldn't be able to handle it and would simply explode. The air was electric between them, and he felt a pang of desire, followed by fear. He panicked for a few seconds.

"Oh, I -- I -- I don't know," Frodo admitted.

"That's alright," Sam immediately said, and he softly let go of his face.

Frodo was already missing his warmth, so he huddled against his chest. He felt Sam kiss his hand, and he shivered again.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just -- I'm too scared. I'm scared of giving in."

"It's alright, sir. I don't mind."

Sam held him tighter, and his warmth was delightful. He stroked his back, and Frodo tried to pretend that it didn't make him feel the way it was making him feel. The burns in his stomach were turning into warmth, and it was quite nice.

"Sam --" he managed to say before his voice faltered.

"I'm right here, Frodo."

Frodo almost begged Sam for a kiss, then stopped himself, then grew very annoyed with himself. Frodo pressed his head on Sam's shoulder in silent apology.

"This is nice," he admitted.

"It is, sir, it rather is."

As a matter of fact, Sam was considering staying there forever.

"What did you want to tell me earlier?"

Sam squeezed Frodo against him like he didn't want to let go ever again. He didn't answer right away.

"I remembered, um -- now, it's strange to say, because I don't feel anything else for her other than close friendship. But, um, I remembered Rosie, as I'm sure you've already guessed. But please, let me explain."

Frodo shook his head, almost amused.

"Sam, you don't owe me an explanation. We're not married."

Sam panicked for a moment, then pressed his head on Frodo's shoulder. He shook himself out of their embrace and looked at the floor.

"No, wait, no -- no, you've got it all wrong. See, I think I do, Mr Frodo. Because I'm --"

He turned his head away, too ashamed to look Frodo in the eye. His voice was as soft as a whisper, and his hands were warm.

"Sir, you need to know. Well, I -- I think I'm in love with you. And that's that."

Then Sam pressed his head on the bed and waited.

Frodo stayed silent for a few long minutes. He couldn't understand what was happening. He felt empty, and like Sam's touch wouldn't help him, but he wanted to agree and say that he was happy about it. He felt like he was a box that someone had emptied. It frustrated him until he decided to force himself out of his shock. Then he stroked Sam's hand and gave him a hesitant smile. He felt like he was going to faint, which would have been very ill-timed.

"What about Rosie, Sam?" he asked instead, and even if he was sweating, he tried to hold himself upright.

He was scared now, because his stomach felt like it had turned to stone. But he did want to be rude and faint right after Sam had bared his soul to him. Sam raised his head to face him and shook his head intently.

"Wait, please -- wait, we don't -- this is too soon. You're not well enough, sir."

"Sam, tell me," Frodo choked out almost desperately.

There was heat on his forehead, and he was sweating, but he didn't want Sam to see him so broken over a simple conversation. He felt weak and unsteady, but he held himself up and took Sam's hands. Sam looked at him, and finally answered.

"You've been in every single one of my dreams as of late, and in every waking moment I long for your company. Whenever I hold your hand, I want to kiss it; and when I say your name, it reminds me of the stars. I don't know about Rosie, but me, right now, well -- I -- I love you more and more every day. It's like I can't get enough."

He looked down. Frodo knew that he ought to be happy -- ecstatic, even. But the only thing he could feel was pressure in his head. It was very poor timing, Frodo repeated to himself. He still had to answer something, but he didn't know what to say, or rather, he knew, but he couldn't say anything.

"Frodo, you're sweating," Sam let out worriedly, and he pressed Frodo's hand against his brow in a pleading motion. "I'm so sorry. Was that too much? Did it hurt you? Did I say something wrong? Please, tell me. I'm sorry. Tell me what to do."

"It's not important," Frodo protested despite the fact that the pressure was now in his head. "I might regret this, but here I go anyway."

He took Sam's hands between his own and pressed them to his breast, then he gave Sam a shaky smile.

He felt lost, because he hadn't planned for it to happen, but he still did: he held Sam close and pushed his lips onto his. Sam made a surprised noise, then melted into the kiss and pressed him closer -- Frodo couldn't tell, but he was shivering, and trying desperately not to be too intense despite his instinct that was screaming at him to kiss him more, and deeper. To Frodo, it felt good, so much that he couldn't feel the pain anymore. But then, Frodo felt numb, and confused. He didn't know what to think anymore.

He held Sam even closer, then let go to look at his face. Sam's eyes were wide open and he looked like he had been hit by a tree again. Then he let out a surprised laugh.

"Can we do this more often?" Frodo asked timidly.

Sam stopped himself just before he could say "yes, please".

"I think I would lose my mind otherwise," Sam answered with a little laugh.

Sam kissed him again and again until he almost forgot his own name. He hadn't known how long Sam had longed for him until now, and he could feel it now. It was nice, and it helped him forget about his illness for a while. Frodo felt electric, until Sam stopped, and Frodo noticed that there was something new in his eyes.

"Sam, your eyes -- they're different," he managed to say.

Sam's hand was caressing his neck, and it surprised Frodo to see how much of an effect this simple touch had on him. Sam looked like he was getting drunk off his lips. His breathing was coming in hard, and there was a little starstruck look on his face. Eventually, he would find the proper words to describe it: Sam was looking at him like he was the love of his life.

"I can't help you there," Sam answered. "I've always looked like this."

"No, see, you look like you love me."

Sam let out a little laugh.

"Please, don't make me say it, or I'll explode, I really will. I'm feeling too many things at once. I just want to keep doing this forever, if you -- if you'll let me."

Sam was still holding his hand, but Frodo couldn't feel anything anymore. He felt strangely neutral and unresponsive to it. It frustrated him, because he wanted to be happy, and to kiss Sam back, and to do whatever came after telling someone you love them. But Frodo could barely keep his eyes open now, and he hated it. He took Sam's hand and pressed it to his face. Sam looked so happy that Frodo wanted to cry. Sam noticed and his brows furrowed in his worry.

"Oh no, no, sir, I'm sorry, I reckon I got carried away. I didn't think of anything else at all, I just wanted -- I'm sorry, sir -- er, Frodo. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated. "You're still sick. No, please, sir -- stay with me. Don't go. Don't sleep."

Frodo barely reacted. He felt tired now. Opening his eyes felt like a momentous effort. He felt Sam's hand grasp his own, and for a moment, his friend looked like he was wreathed in stars, like an Elf-prince or a god. It made Frodo smile, and it soothed him somewhat so that he could say what he had been meaning to say.

"Sam, you -- I always --"

Sam leaned in to hear his whispering. Frodo searched for the proper words, then laughed, because he was being ridiculous. He could finally talk, yet he was stopping himself because of the word choice?

"I love everything about you," he let out, and his words even shocked him.

He clasped a hand to his mouth to shut himself up and bowed his head in embarrassment. Sam almost fell off his seat.

"What?" Sam echoed, and he blubbered a few words before staring at Frodo in surprise.

Frodo couldn't look at him for a while. He almost apologized. Eventually, he gathered enough courage to say something else.

"I can't bear to think of a day when we aren't together. You're all that matters to me, and I love you so much -- I would go to the ends of the earth if you were waiting for me there. And there wouldn't be a day where I wouldn't hope for you to reach me. It's never been anyone else. I can't think of anyone else but you. I wish I'd married you."

He closed his eyes. It felt like he was tearing off a layer to reveal its soft core.

"Sam, I've been dreaming about you too -- back when I still did. I love you so much -- I -- I love you."

It felt nice to say it, so he repeated it until he felt warm. He rested his head on Sam's shoulder and stayed there. He wouldn't mind falling asleep on Sam -- and then he realized that he wasn't supposed to fall asleep at all. He wondered if he was dying. He laid back on the bed and looked at Sam with some sort of peaceful feeling he didn't trust. Suddenly, he felt old, and it scared him.

"Sam, look at me," he pleaded. "I don't want to leave you."

"I'm not leaving," Sam promised. "Are you? Please, stay with your Sam. How do you feel?"

Frodo shook his head. There were tears in his eyes now. He felt like he was laying in his deathbed. He wondered if it was happiness and he has gotten so disused to it that he couldn't recognize it anymore. He didn't want to worry Sam needlessly. He was warm, and he felt like all of his burdens were far away. He didn't know if it was normal. Then he felt a hotness in his forehead, and he pressed his hand to it, and found that his body felt different.

"What's wrong with me?" he muttered. "I think I've stopped making sense for good."

Sam held his hand between his own.

"You make sense to me."

He sat up, and looked at Sam's sweet, serious face. He wanted to smile and kiss him, but a burn in his throat stopped him from doing anything. He worried that his illness was coming back all at once. He laid against the bed-wall and looked at Sam, who was stroking his cheek, and despite the burn, he felt himself smile.

"Come here," he murmured, petting the bed 

Sam sat next to him. He looked very shy now. Frodo pressed his lips to Sam's hand, placed his head on his shoulder, and said nothing for a while. Sam held him, and he felt like it was always meant to be this way; Frodo and Sam holding each other.

Frodo's arm was hurting, and his lungs felt sore, but he didn't want to think about it. He probably wasn't dying. His left hand felt numb now, and his eyes burned. He wanted to press Sam against the bed-wall and kiss his neck and do other things he couldn't even admit to himself without having his insides catch on fire, and the desire woke him up better, even though his eyelids were drooping. He noticed that his face was getting numb again, and he started to laugh.

"Sam, what's wrong with me? One second I'm happy, and the next, I'm -- I can't say it. I might be dying," he said, and then he laughed again, because it felt so ridiculous that it wasn't even scary anymore.

"It's alright, sir. Your Sam's here, and he'll take care of you."

Frodo held Sam closer. He liked when Sam said that.

"Frodo?" Sam said in a strange voice.

"Yes?" Frodo answered immediately, and there was something in his tone that made him feel all flustered.

He felt Sam hold his face in his hands -- so delicately that Frodo wondered if he thought he could break him. His touch woke up nerve endings he didn't even know he had.

"I've dreamed about doing this with you for so long," Sam admitted.

Frodo let out a whimper. The dam broke, and he almost shoved Sam against the wall. He pressed a hand to Sam's knee to ground himself and gave him the deepest kiss he could manage to give. That first part seemed to fluster Sam immensely, and as they parted, he stammered something unintelligible. Frodo himself almost fainted from it -- and his eyes were feeling cold. They were drooping more heavily now. He had to look at the ground for a second. He felt ridiculous now.

Sam didn't know what had just happened, but it had felt good, and he was unable to form a full sentence. He looked down at Frodo's hand. It was still on his knee. It woke up more of his memories, and he felt annoyed, because it wasn't the right time at all. He passed a hand over his lips, and found that they were wet. It made him blush. Frodo looked at him, and his redness worsened.

Frodo passed a hand in his hair, and started to feel very neutral about everything. The strangeness of his own feelings made him almost want to cry. He wished for someone to explain them to him.

"Wait a little bit," he pleaded, and placed a hand to his brow, because he felt wild and confused.

"I'm sorry," Sam answered softly. "I'm so sorry, sir. You're sick; I chose just about the worst time. I should've stopped --"

"No, it's my fault, Sam," Frodo protested. "Sam don't blame yourself for anything, and especially not for my sickness, please. You know, I like saying your name," he murmured, as nausea settled in his throat again. "It's the sweetest name in the world."

"Frodo?" Sam called in worry.

He felt too warm now. His stomach felt like it was being stabbed from the inside. His thoughts were becoming incoherent again. 

"If I feel better, I'll tell you -- well, you probably don't want to hear it. But I'll tell you what happened in Valinor. Now, I think I'm feeling sick again. I'd forgotten how it felt. Please stay while I sink deeper. Just stay here. I want nothing more. I only want you to stay and I want to touch your face, and look at your lips and your hair, and -- stay, Sam."

He closed his eyes and fever overtook him again. He repeated Sam's name until a headache stopped him. He weakly tried to hold Sam's hand, but he couldn't feel anything solid. It worsened his migraine. He felt Sam's warmth over him and knew he was being held; it soothed him enough to stop thinking for a while.

Nienna had returned to the silver pool, and she was holding other little crying things in her arms. Her tears fell again in the water at her feet. There was so much sorrow in this world that sometimes, it burdened her. It was lucky that tenderness healed the heart; otherwise she would've simply been crying for eternity without being able to do anything. And that, Nienna thought, would have been horrible.

She went back to where she had left her student, and found him curled up around Shadowfax's head, and petting the horse gently. She smiled, for in her eyes, he was still young, and she remembered the days of his training with fondness. She knelt by them.

"You'll see him again, love. But it's time to say farewell for now. It'll be alright. You'll meet again."

Gandalf murmured his goodbyes into Shadowfax's ear, and the horse looked at him in understanding. Then Nienna held her protégé in her arms again. She liked to do that.

"Come now, love. It's time to go."

Gandalf felt Nienna kiss his brow, then gently lower him back into reality. He woke up on the hill again. He felt regretful for a little while, then he sighed and stood up.

"May you find swift running in all the green places beyond, Shadowfax," he said to himself, then he wiped his eyes and headed back into town.


	25. On the hills of Rohan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original chapter name was "Merry gets adopted (sort of)". That might tell you something

Legolas and Gimli were sitting on a hill, looking at… more hills. There were only hills. There was nothing else but hills.

"How are you liking Rohan so far?" Gimli asked.

"Not enough woods. What about you?"

"Not enough caves," Gimli answered, then they looked at each other and smiled. "I thought you liked tall grass."

"I prefer having something to hide under, or to explore. And the glint of the sun caught in the leaves is simply marvelous! The forest looks to me as beautiful as you would find -- as you did find the cave that day," Legolas explained.

"What cave?" Gimli let out.

"The one we visited together. We found little mushrooms growing by a river, and you said I was infecting your sanctuary with my Elf-magic. Do you not remember?"

Gimli laughed and shook his head.

"It sounds like something I would say."

Legolas looked at him fondly and smiled once more.

"I'm glad you're here, Gimli. Your presence pleases me more than a hundred leaves would."

Gimli tried to answer normally, but somehow, all he managed to do was to blurt out "I love you". Legolas let out a gasp, and it took him a few seconds for his breathing to return to normal. 

"I'm sorry," Gimli muttered under his hood.

"I… I love you too," Legolas said shyly, and he looked away, but he was smiling.

They didn't add anything for a while, until Legolas turned his head around to look at the town behind them.

"You know, the little one -- Frodo, he has the elven sickness. You know -- the Sadness. The final heartbreak."

Gimli turned to face him. He looked confused.

"You know, when we Elves get too sad, we start to fade away. Lord Elrond documented his own illness himself."

"And you read about it?" Gimli echoed in shock.

"I did," Legolas answered gravely. "I talked to Mithrandir earlier. It's not supposed to come in waves like it does for Frodo; it's a constant pain. It can last for years. I don't know what's happening to little Frodo, or how long it'll last, but it's not good. Gimli, I'm scared he might die. I don't want to see such a merry little thing suffer so much. He's so small, and --"

Legolas shook his head. Gimli looked at him in sudden horror and reached out for his arm.

"Did you catch it when I died? Is this why you're bringing it up?"

"No, no, no, you didn't die, I -- I brought you to Valinor with me."

"And that… changed something?" Gimli asked hesitantly.

"I think so," Legolas murmured. "I hope so."

Legolas looked away and added nothing. Then Gimli held him in his arms, and he felt soothed.

"I don't think I could have forgiven myself, had you died on that boat," Legolas choked out.

"Be comforted, then. I did not die," Gimli answered in his softest voice, and he pressed a hand to his cheek.

Legolas kissed his palm.

"I'm happy that we'll get to stay together for all time."

They simply looked into each other's eyes for a moment, then Legolas spoke again.

"What do you think we'll be doing when we wake up? Maybe we'll remember our lives right away, or we might wake up doing something we can't remember the purpose of. What do you think our life is like out there?"

Gimli raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"I expect we'll be sharing a house. Maybe even a bed."

Legolas covered his face with his hands and let out a flustered little squeak. Gimli started to laugh.

"You're teasing me!" he cried, and he pushed his friend away in his embarrassment.

Gimli went rolling on the floor, then got back to his feet with an outraged cry; Legolas started to laugh, before getting pushed himself, and he fell on his back. Gimli started to wonder if he had hurt him (Elves were so slender, after all), but then Legolas looked at him and laughed again. Gimli smiled brightly at him, started to laugh, and laid down next to him. They stayed like this for a long time. Whenever he saw Legolas with his hair wild, it reminded him of what they had done by the old log, and he had to take a moment to calm himself. He laid his head on Legolas's breast and stayed unmoving for a while.

"You know, hills aren't so bad," Gimli said.

"Why? Because you get to push me off of them?" Legolas snickered.

"Maybe," Gimli replied with a bright smile.

Legolas looked at him with so much fondness that Gimli felt very shy. He gently reached out to remove his hood, and Gimli's lungs suddenly stopped working properly.

"Do you know what we should do?" Legolas murmured, as he pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I ought to comb your hair, and braid it; then you can braid mine in dwarven-fashion."

Gimli liked the idea, but then he realized that it would be a very clear sign, if not of a relationship, that something was going on between them. He took Legolas's hands and kissed them.

"I would love to, but I don't think I'm quite ready for -- well, you know. I hope that doesn't bother you."

Legolas smiled. Gimli told himself that he was completely and utterly perfect.

"I'm sorry, dear friend. I'll admit without shame that I simply want to comb your hair. It looks quite rough. It could use care."

"No, don't be sorry," he murmured gently.

Gimli kissed his hands again. He felt happy.

"I'll teach you to make dwarven-braids, then."

Someone turned out to reach them (how could they not, when they were sitting on a hill overlooking other hills), but luckily for everyone, it turned out to be Merry and Pippin, and since they were busy, they didn't take the time to look around. Legolas and Gimli slid further down the hill and hid under a crevice until they couldn't hear the hobbits anymore, and kept quiet for a while.

"Stop running!" Pippin cried out.

"Why are you following me?"

"Why are you even running?" Pippin protested.

"I'm not running," Merry said, and he slowed down. "I just wanted to be alone, but you kept following me."

He was annoyed, but he couldn't stay mad.

"I'm sorry, Pippin. Something came over me, but I'm alright now. It's just -- well, I recovered more of my memories."

Pippin plopped himself on the grass.

"Was it the one where I was old? You told me about that one already."

Merry shook his head. He turned his head away.

"I don't think I ought to tell you."

"Merry!" Pippin protested.

"It's not a good one, Pip!" Merry exclaimed.

"Just tell me!"

"Fine, fine, if you want to know -- there were goblins. Tall goblins with a great white hand on their banners. They came right for us, and then -- this Man jumped in front of us and fought them. He had a sword, but it wasn't Strider. I don't think he made it. He killed so many, but they had arrows, and he was pierced so many times -- I couldn't see the ending. I was too scared. I don't know who he was, but I think he was a friend of ours. And that's that."

Pippin frowned.

"Boromir?" he let out hesitantly.

Merry nodded. The name felt right.

"Is that why you were running?"

"I was running because I was sad."

"Where were you even going?" Pippin said.

"I don't know. Nowhere, probably. I just wanted to sit alone on the grass for a while."

"And now you're sitting with me on the grass."

"I am."

Pippin looked at his friend. He hadn't seen Merry look like this since the start of their adventure, back when he was worried for Frodo.

"You look upset."

"I am upset," Merry replied.

He patted Merry's shoulder and got up.

"Then I'll leave you alone. I'll go see what Strider's doing."

"Don't die on your way there," Merry replied jokingly, then he added more seriously: "I only have one brother."

"I only have one, too," Pippin said, then he walked away a little awkwardly.

Merry looked down at the floor again. When he was certain that Pippin wouldn't turn around and look at him, he let his face fall. He felt a confusing amount of emotions that he didn't know how to deal with. The way he found to describe how he was feeling was as though a poignant song was playing inside of him, and he was stuck listening to it. He started to cry. Anyone who would have seen him at that moment would have felt very sad to see him, because he was alone on his hill, and he was so small that he could be mistaken for a weeping child.

As a matter of fact, a passerby mistook him for one. Merry recognized him, of course, but he didn't look at his face. It was king Théoden. He felt his heart leap of joy when he saw the man he had once called his father, but he restrained himself.

"Children should not weep on hills alone," he heard him say in a soft voice.

Merry laughed a little bit. He was barely taller than Pippin, and there was a reason why his friend kept drinking milk.

"In all due respect, sire, I'm twenty-two years old. I'm a hobbit."

"And I've heard that hobbits are merry people."

Merry shrugged.

"We usually are."

"Then tell me why you aren't."

Merry wasn't expecting the conversation to continue. It took him a little while to shake himself out of his surprise.

"My friend is dying," he replied in a strange voice. "And I just remembered that my other friend was killed by goblins. I'm having quite a bad day."

Théoden frowned.

"You have my many regrets, master hobbit."

Merry shook his head noncommittally.

"Do you remember me?" he asked hopefully.

"No. Should I, perhaps?"

"That's alright," Merry let out sadly. "I am very small indeed; perhaps you didn't see me when your memories visited you."

Merry let out a laugh, sighed. He wondered if Frodo was in pain at the moment. He probably was.

"Do you know of the elven-sickness?"

"The Sadness of the Elves?"

"That's what my friend has."

Théoden found that the conversation intrigued him more than he had expected it to, so he sat down next to Merry. 

"Yet you're not at his side."

"I'm forbidden to enter," Merry explained. "We all are. Besides, I have to take care of my brother. He's only fourteen, and we're so far away from home…"

"I saw a little one walk across the hill earlier. Was that your brother?"

"That's him alright," Merry confirmed with a smile.

"I must admit now that I am wondering why two hobbits and an Elf would travel so far at a time like this."

"Oh, Frodo's not an Elf, sir, he's just special like that. But we have a real Elf with us -- two, even, and more hobbits, and Dwarves, and a Man. And a wizard -- but you probably guessed that already."

"And what, might I ask, is such an extraordinary company of people doing in humble Rohan?"

"We're searching for more of our friends, like the one who was killed by goblins."

"If you tell me his name, perhaps I shall be able to help you find his grave."

"Oh, no, sire, he's not dead yet. It's all a matter of dreams. His name is Boromir, sir. He's a brave man."

"Boromir, son of Denethor, son of Ecthelion?" Théoden echoed in surprise.

"Probably."

"The man you've been searching for is the Captain of Gondor," Théoden explained. 

"Gondor is the country that has a black flag with a white star on it, right?"

Théoden smiled and nodded.

"You dreamed of Boromir's death?" Théoden let out. "Killed by… goblins?"

"Yes, sir. Orcs you would call them."

"Orcs?"

Théoden shook his head mournfully.

"These are grave tidings."

"It's alright, sire, he isn't -- it isn't too late. We're searching for him to help him somehow. I don't know how we'll do that myself, but Gandalf knows what he's doing, so I'm sure it'll work out."

Théoden stared in surprise at this little hobbit, who looked so young yet had bravery in his eyes. There was something about him he couldn't quite place. He knew that he was seeing a soldier, but couldn't remember which battle he had fought in.

"Some of my people have had strange dreams too as of late, among them being my own advisor, lord Grima Wormtongue. Perhaps you shall like to have a word with him."

"Yes, sire, I would like that indeed," Merry said, and he bowed his head.

Théoden stood back up, and Merry followed him back to the city. Legolas and Gimli were still huddled under the crevice, but neither made a move to get up. It was nice to be stuck together in such a small space. The crevice could almost be called a little cave, for it was round and sank into the hill. There was barely enough space for the both of them, so they had to stay very close to each other.

"I shouldn't be surprised that we managed to stumble into the only cave this country can offer, yet I am," Legolas muttered.

Gimli didn't answer and caressed his face lovingly. Legolas closed his eyes and leaned against his hand.

"You know, this isn't so bad," Gimli whispered to Legolas with a smile. "I like being here with you."

"I suppose you liked our boat adventure, too, then," Legolas said.

"I'm not overly fond of the sea, but you made it all worth it, my friend."

Legolas smiled. He held Gimli closer to his heart. He had not put his hood back on yet, and Legolas found him even more beautiful with his hair down.

"Gimli, I love you," he let out, and he pressed a kiss to Gimli's brow.

Gimli pressed him close.

"It's the hair, isn't it?" Gimli laughed.

Legolas pushed him.

"Pardon me, there's a lot more to you than your hair," he exclaimed in outrage, then added teasingly: "But I'll admit that your hair is the main argument in your favour."

Gimli started to laugh again, then he looked at Legolas with something in his eyes, before he reached out to take his hand and placed it on his cheek. Legolas swallowed. He was sure that he was getting redder by the second. They were sitting dangerously close to each other, and it made Legolas feel all sorts of things he probably wasn't allowed to feel.

"Should we be staying here?" Legolas asked breathlessly.

"I've found that anything worth mentioning between us only ever happens when we're lost in nature and hiding under something."

"It's a Dwarf-thing, isn't it?" Legolas teased.

"Well, we don't come out of rocks, so we need to be born somehow" Gimli shrugged.

Legolas started to laugh. Gimli smiled at him. He loved the sound of it. Then he hugged Legolas and pressed his head to his shoulder. He told himself that he didn't want to spend another second without him, and that he wanted to be able to proclaim his love anytime he wanted -- and that he wanted to kiss him and hold him and marry him.

"Perhaps we should make it official."

"How?" Legolas asked.

Gimli felt something stir inside him, and he held Legolas closer in his embarrassment.

"No, I meant -- I meant, not hide anymore --"

Legolas closed his eyes and cursed himself.

"The one time you meant something innocent, and I misinterpreted it," Legolas commented.

"I'm not that bad," Gimli protested.

Legolas smiled and gently touched Gimli's cheek. His playful mood disappeared for a second, and he was left with soft longing.

"No, you aren't. You're probably my favorite person in the world. I -- I dream of you at night, and when I'm awake, I feel restless until I can hold your hand. I wish we had more time alone, and a proper private space, and maybe we could -- give into -- you know."

Gimli started to laugh, then he kissed Legolas's brow.

"Stop laughing!" Legolas protested, but he was laughing as well.

"I'm not -- I'm -- I'm sorry. I just can't believe you --"

He kept laughing, then pressed a deep kiss to Legolas's mouth. Legolas felt something heat up inside of him, and his legs gave up under him. He let out a disappointed little whine as they parted, and almost begged for more, before he realized what he was doing and shook himself mentally.

"How is it that I always feel like this with you, no matter how inappropriate the time is?" Legolas protested.

"I'm simply happy to know that I have some effect on you," Gimli answered with a smile.

He started to laugh. Legolas reached out to stroke his cheek, and felt a sudden tenderness for him.

"You have -- you're -- of course you have an effect on me. I'm in -- I'm in love with you."

Gimli gave a little gasp. Legolas's hands were soft against Gimli's face; so soft that he could barely bear it. He could feel his warmth against his chest, and see his dark hair glitter in the sunlight.

"And I feel the same for you," Gimli commented softly, then he kissed Legolas like he had been meaning to do since they had stumbled into the cave.

Legolas sighed against his lips and pressed him closer. Gimli tried to hold back, but he couldn't, and he held him even tighter until he could feel his muscles under his tunic. Legolas let out a gasp as Gimli pressed him against the wall and kissed him even deeper. Legolas made a delightful noise and melted in his arms. Then their legs brushed, and Legolas was shocked into reality.

"Wait," he managed to choke out despite himself. "Wait, wait. We'll get caught. We can't."

Gimli looked into his eyes and pressed his forehead to Legolas's. He gently moved the rest of him away.

"I'm sorry. I know you're frustrated," Legolas murmured.

"No, no, no, I'm sorry, it's alright," Gimli answered, with his cheeks turning a bright shade of red. "I just got carried away."

"I'm sorry," Legolas repeated sadly.

"Don't be, please. It's okay. Why do you feel so bad?"

"I wish we could do all of these things, but this place is very exposed, and it's frustrating me, too. Yet it's my fault for being so shy. I'm a dunce, as little Pippin would say," Legolas said with a laugh.

"You're not," Gimli said with warmth in his voice. "You're the loveliest creature in this universe."

Legolas smiled at him and kissed his face.

"I love you," Gimli muttered against him.

"And you're more wonderful than I could possibly hope to describe," Legolas answered, and he held him tighter. "Do you think it's pretty? Our house, I mean. We must live in one. Do you think I built it, too, like I built the boat?"

Gimli thought of grey walls with wide windows, and of finding Legolas looking out of one. He smiled.

"Prettier with you in it," he answered. "I think you built it, because it looks just like the boat. Grey and white, with something elven about it. It's beautiful. I would love to live in a house that you built."

Gimli brushed a lock of hair away from Legolas's eyes and smiled at him. Legolas smiled back. Gimli looked at him with longing in his eyes.

"You know, maybe we could -- um -- you wanted to braid my hair, and I said no, but, well, I'm saying yes now. If you still want to do it."

Legolas took his hand and led him back into the sunlight, where they sat together. They leaned onto each other for a while.

"Of course I still want to."

Pippin had walked back into town alone and was sitting on a bench. He felt worried, and he didn't like it. Suddenly, he remembered a great forest, and a tree with a face. The tree was talking to him. Was he an Ent, or had one of the Dwarves managed to get him to drink something stronger? Merry was with him, and they were drinking something that looked like water but tasted like dirt. He felt incredibly confused about it, but at least it had shaken him out of his worry. He remembered what Frodo had told him in the cart in Hobbiton. They had drunk Ent-draughts and grown to be four feet tall.

"Well, that's not helping me at all," he muttered.

He wiggled his feet and tried to pretend that he couldn't see people staring at him. To pass the time, he tried to remember his wife's face, but nothing came to him. Then he heard the pit-patter of tiny feet, and turned around to see two bright-haired children approaching him shyly.

"Are you a hobbit, sir?" Éomer asked.

"I am," Pippin answered, surprised. "Why? Who's asking?"

"Me, sir."

"I meant -- what's your name? Why are you asking? Did someone send you? You're not from the hospital, are you?"

"Your friend the lord sent us to find you because I'm too good at sword-fighting for Éomer," Éowyn boasted.

"What am I supposed to do about it?" Pippin protested.

"Laugh at him. That's what I'm doing."

Pippin snickered.

"Well, meeting you two was nice, but my friend Frodo is ill and I don't have the heart to play games."

"Is he remembering things, too?" Éomer asked.

"No, it's something else."

"I'm sorry, master hobbit. This is rather sad," Éowyn said sadly.

"It is," Pippin answered. "Do you know who else is remembering things?"

"King Théoden, Lord Wormtongue, and Théodred, but just a few."

"And us," Éomer cut her off.

Pippin suddenly remembered a Man with a pale face pushing a knife into the back of a wizard that looked like Gandalf but had a hood instead of a hat; and he saw the wizard fade into nothingness and arrows pierce the Man. He frowned in disgust.

Then there were footsteps, and Pippin raised his head. He saw Merry walking with Gandalf and someone he couldn't recognize.

"Oi! Merry! There you are!" Pippin called.

The stranger smiled.

"I'll let you go back to your brother."

Pippin became very confused until Merry walked towards him, and he realized that they were talking about him. He was the brother.

"I'm your brother now, Merry?" he exclaimed teasingly.

"Oh, shut it, Pip," Merry muttered.

But Pippin hugged him, and it made Merry feel content.

"I'm glad to be."

"Me too, Pippin," Merry answered.

When they separated, two things happened at once: Merry noticed Éomer and Éowyn, and Pippin saw that the pale man from his memory was right there. He heard Merry say very confusing things about a Witch-king and a coronation, but he ignored him and went to see Wormtongue.

"Are you the man who stabbed a wizard?" he asked him without bothering with protocol.

The man frowned, but nodded. He looked regretful.

"I think I am, yes."

"That wasn't Gandalf, was it?"

"Goodness, no! It was Saruman the White."

"If you're quite done," Gandalf interrupted him.

"I wasn't," Pippin protested.

"We leave in an hour. Be ready," Gandalf said.

Merry turned around from what looked like it was a happy reunion between good friends.

"What about Frodo?" he asked.

"He's fit to travel. Besides, I'm sure he won't say no to heading to Gondor."

Merry and Pippin looked at each other.

"Come on, Pippin," Merry immediately exclaimed.

They said their goodbyes and ran off. Gandalf gave a little now and headed off on his own. To his great annoyance, the children followed him, leaving Wormtongue and the king alone.

"These are a merry people," Théoden commented.

Wormtongue nodded, but he still remembered what the Shire had looked like after Saruman had gotten his hands on it. Well, not Saruman alone. That was the worst part to him.

"They are indeed, sire."

"Your body is here, but your mind is elsewhere. What bothers you?" the king asked.

"My memories, sire. I have done horrible things for which I cannot atone."

"So you have said to me," Théoden nodded. "Yet you feel regret, which tells me that your heart is still true. These memories might be of the future, or of the past, but as of now, they only exist hypothetically. You have done nothing wrong as of yet, and have been a fantastic help to Rohan throughout this crisis."

Wormtongue looked down.

"Forgetfulness does not ease my conscience so easily, sire. I know the memories are real -- as real as we are. Can a crime be excused because of the remembrance of his maker? Is he still not guilty? The truth is in the blood that stains his hands, and in the destruction he left in his path."

"Yet I see no blood, nor destruction."

"I see them in my mind in every waking moment, sire," Wormtongue admitted. "They are real to me."

"Should I offer you forgiveness, would you take it?"

Wormtongue shook his head.

"You're too good to me, sire. I wouldn't accept it. With your leave, now, I shall go see if my help is needed somewhere."

"Go on, then, lord Wormtongue."

He bowed deeply and left. Then Théodred went to join his father, and together, they looked at the town.

"Father, are you -- proud of me?" Théodred asked.

"Immensely," Théoden answered, and it was the truth.

"If I were to die in battle, would you think I have failed you?"

Théoden shook his head. He had to admit that he thought about it often.

"I would honour your sacrifice, but mostly, I would grieve the son that I love."

Théoden hadn't recovered that particular memory yet, and he didn't understand why his son suddenly held him like he was a boy again.

"Thank you," Théodred choked out. "Your words comfort me."

"What prompted such a question?" Théoden asked worriedly.

Théodred shook his head.

"Today is such a beautiful day; let us not stain it with sadness."

The king nodded.

"Then let us enjoy it while it lasts."


	26. The Valar's idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My favorite lesbian couple, except me and my future wife, has entered the ring (pun non-intended, but i wish it had been)

When Estë raised her hand, the whole world fell asleep, from the smallest ant to the tallest Mumâk. She had done it without thinking, and soon realised that it was a poor decision. Every Elf that had been staring at them fell to the ground at once, birds sat down on trees and closed their eyes, and trees shut their flowers She knelt by Frodo's body and listened to his heartbeat, then to his breathing, and in grave silence, the Valar went to stand next to her and looked on.

"Alas for the ringbearer! His is an evil fate," cried Estë, with her peaceful voice shaken by grief. "The sadness of the Elves has overtaken him. There is little we can do for him now."

"The sadness might have wounded him deeply, yet I sense something fouler," said Oromë, the Hunter.

He knelt next to Frodo, gently slipped him out of Sam's embrace, and took out a little water bottle from Frodo's pocket. It smelled like wolfsbane, which was a beautiful dark flower that grew in Middle-Earth, too. Oromë stayed there for a second and, in his confusion, said nothing for a long time, before he finally understood their mistake. In Valinor, there was nothing that could hurt Elves -- Elves, mind you. As a matter of fact, wolfsbane was extremely dangerous for everyone but Elves. Its symptoms were very unpleasant and usually ended in death. Oromë placed the bottle on the ground and listened to Frodo's heartbeat. It was slower than it should be, like he had predicted.

A cry rang out from the edge of the clearing. Nienna, the Healer, emerged from the crowd. She cradled Frodo in her arms and her tears fell in his face.

"I have known for a long time that something like this would happen, and alas! Today is that day. I heard his suffering in my heart, yet I am too late. Alas for the ringbearer, slayed by his own hand, and alas for Nienna, who could but watch as the horrible events unfolded."

Oromë gently placed Frodo back on the ground and showed Nienna the water-bottle. Nienna looked at it for a second before he put it back in his pocket.

"Be soothed, for he is not gone yet. I can heal the poison in his blood, but not the one in his mind. I shall need assistance if we are to save this poor soul."

"Ought we to get so personally involved, dear brother?" asked Nessa, the Dancer.

"His blood is soiled, dear sister. I fear he will pass if we do not act soon."

"Yet we are forbidden to," Nessa pressed on.

"He is a ringbearer," Namo, the Judge, interrupted. "Exceptions have been made before for those whose deeds were spectacular, and for the one who rid Arda of the evil of Sauron, an exception shall be made once more."

Nienna's eyes went round.

"I have not been made aware that an exception was to be made. I have been listening to every pained cry and every teardrop of his for years. His case was so very easy to solve, yet following our code, I did nothing as he needed me. Grievous it is for one to live so close to the mighty Valar yet see their helping hands fold. Our promise broke my heart, yet I followed it, only to find that I could have answered!"

Nienna shook her head bitterly.

"Is it only for his deeds that he deserves to live? Shall we sit here and decide that the poor souls who feel the same sadness and despair, were they to live with us, would not have benefited from our care, and our love? Do we not love people for their souls, but for their deeds? The tragedy that we have witnessed today should be enough to get us to act, yet we sit here and discuss if his deeds are enough to warrant that he is saved. This is not compassion, and it makes me sick."

She had grown furious, and would've spat in the ground if she had not stopped herself. Instead, she turned on her heel and left. Estë raised a hand after her, but she was already gone. She turned back to the rest of her kinsfolk with sadness in her eyes.

"Should you need not my help anymore, I would go comfort my wife," Estë said.

Oromë nodded; she nodded back and went after Nienna. He sighed, then took out a great vial from his pocket. Nessa looked away, for she enjoyed not the sight of his methods. Oromë pressed his face to Frodo's breast and breathed in, then out. As he breathed in, the vial filled itself up with corrupted blood; and when he breathed out, Frodo's body was filled with new one. The poor hobbit started to breathe more easily. Oromë closed the vial and put it back in his pocket for later study.

"What are we to do now?" he asked.

"What can we do for those whose illness is so grave?" Namo said darkly. "Perhaps all that is left to do is for Estë to wake him up."

"Then the sadness shall claim him again," Nessa protested. "Surely we are more than capable of soothing his sorrow. Valar we are, and on Arda, nothing surpasses us in might. Can we not heal a broken heart?"

"One of us can, and she left our council in her anger today," Namo answered. "We shall await her return."

Everyone sat down in a circle around the ringbearer and his friend, and said no more. Had Nienna heard their words, she would have said that anyone with kindness in their heart could help a friend in their hour of need, but she didn't, because she was sitting in the forest alone. Estë reached her, folded her great grey dress around her legs, and took a seat at her side. Niemma thought that she looked dignified, even when she was sitting on a log.

"Truer words have not been spoken among us for a long time," Estë said.

Nienna nodded. Her eyes were full of fresh tears. She saw little Frodo in her mind, curled into a ball as though his sleep was troubled, and she felt the need to hold him in her arms. She could feel the hurt in his mind with her own. Estë reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"A friend to many he is, and a kind soul. My heart aches to see him in this state. Treacherous the mind can be when it falls under the waves of grief, and loneliness. I know what is causing his pain, but I have not settled on a healing process yet. I do not wish to ask for advice, for I would rather keep my patient's secrets, but I feel I must make my case to convince our people of the necessity of treatment. Truly, it is an extraordinary one. Such an idea has never been uttered in the councils of the mighty, yet I shall propose it. I shall ask that we give Frodo the mercy of bringing his friends back to see him."

Estë smiled.

"Many have wished for this along the years."

"Yet to none it has been granted -- none but people who have done extraordinary things, like Luthien and Beren who were brought back as mortal-folk. But what I ask is for more than two friends, and this, I am sure, will not be approved by our Judge."

"Yet Manwë is our king, and Varda, our queen."

"They do not meddle in the affairs of the living often."

"Perhaps they shall, this once, for the ringbearer."

Nienna sighed and bowed her head.

"Ringbearer! It always comes back to this. The little one shall wake and see their reasoning, and he shan't be happy. Yet he will have a friend in me, and in you, and in those of us who agree, and he shan't be alone. Come! Let us convince our friends."

She took Estë's hand and walked her to where the rest of the Valar were sitting together. Namo stood up when he saw her.

"Dear friend, it was not my intention to hurt you. Please, hear my apology."

"Nor was it mine to cause any friction between us, but you must know that my feelings remain the same. Come, let us speak of it no more. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

She sat. Namo followed her, then Estë.

"I ask for dear companions to come alive once more for our ringbearer."

There were whispers among the circle.

"How many?" Namo asked.

Nienna looked at Estë before answering. Estë gave her a smile.

"Five they are: King Elessar of Gondor; Queen Arwen Halfelven; Boromir son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor; Thain Peregrin Took of the Shire; and Meriadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland."

Namo nodded.

"Brave they were, and I have welcomed them in my halls indeed. Yet yours is a difficult request: how can I bring back so many and yet remain fair to all of those before who have passed on? What have they done to merit such grace? And what of their wives, and their children? How long will it take before they ask to be reunited?"

Nienna looked heartbroken, but she nodded. Warm tears fell onto her cheeks.

"Death is a sad matter," Namo continued. "Yet I must be impartial. Iluvatar's gift must not be cast away without reason, or logic."

Estë raised her head to speak.

"We have chosen to welcome the ringbearers here, and when Gimli son of Gloin was brought, we welcomed him too. Their deeds were great enough to merit such an honour, said we of the ringbearers; and it was Aulë and Ulmo who pleaded for Gimli to stay, and we agreed to keep him here out of friendship for them. Only the Elves shall live with us in the Undying Lands, said we in the beginning of time. Yet three hobbits and a dwarf have been given immortality and protection. Gimli was no ringbearer, nor has he done anything for the good of Arda that we would call "exceptional". I bring our attention to the fact that we kept Gimli out of love for Aulë; this same train of thought is what Nienna is proposing we do."

Namo sighed.

"Boromir, son of Denethor had no wife nor children; it was King Elessar's death that led Queen Arwen to her end, and not that of their children; yet masters Took and Brandybuck had wives and children. Shall you ask me to bring their wives back? And what of Samwise Gamgee, who lost his own? If we were to bring back all of them, the count would rise up to eight. And what if they were to bring more children into the world? Elves rarely do, yet I know that master Samwise had thirteen of them. These children would be immortal, and bring more children. Hobbits are wonderful people who love to live in big families, yet Valinor is a place of peace that cannot sustain their customs."

"Then let us only bring the original five of them," Nienna argued. "I have faith that King Elessar and Queen Arwen would understand."

Namo shook his head. He looked frustrated.

"Let us all take a short recess to make up our minds, then we shall come to a decision."

Everyone stood up and went to talk in little groups.

"We could make a new island for them," Aulë, the Smith, said to Nessa. "There, masters Took and Brandybuck and their wives could have as many children as they wish to have, without disturbing the peace of our home."

"Yet the point of bringing them back is for them to stay alive forever in dear Valinor. Otherwise, we could simply send them back to the Shire and have them live their lives again. And what would happen when these children grow up? They would want children of their own, and so they would be the last generation to elope with someone who isn't a cousin. Their own children would be forced to repeat what we regretted to see in Nienor and Turambar."

Aulë sighed. Somewhere near them, Namo was talking to Irmo, the Dream-maker, his brother.

"They want me to change everything," Namo complained. "I regret it, of course, but I fear that we only have one choice. Perhaps we should have thought and talked more before we brought the ringbearers."

"Grievous was Frodo's injury, and bringing him here was all we could do to help him," Irmo reminded him. "I worry that, by losing him, we shall make our decision vain, and our exception useless."

"I too worry, and I wish to help the ringbearer; but what I have been asked to do is simply unheard of. I shall need time to ponder, yet we lack it right now. We cannot make a hasty decision that will cost us later on."

"Then let us test it. Dream-maker I am, and a dream I shall give to the ringbearer. We shall test his resolve, and his heart; and perhaps we shall see new things or have new ideas. It will buy us time, at least."

Namo thought for a moment, then smiled.

"Your counsel pleases me, dear brother. Yet I must disagree with you on something: Frodo has already proven that his heart is true. It is not a matter of debate anymore."

Irmo grinned at his brother and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Stern you are, dear brother, but not heartless; and your fondness for Frodo pleases me, for I myself am quite fond of him. Let us announce our idea to the council now, and see if it is approved."

As you can guess, the idea was approved, which is why everyone was sitting in the cart as they approached Gondor. The cart-ride was silent, for Gandalf had ordered everyone to keep quiet unless they wanted to be thrown out and go the rest of the way on foot. They were all too afraid to talk, even in whispers. But then Arin started to elbow Bili until he finally opened his mouth to speak. He looked very embarrassed under his blue hood. Luckily for his feet, his voice was very low.

"I have, um, composed a little something in honour of Lord Balin and his companions. If we had time to make music, I would have played it, but, well, today is --"

"I have not said "no music"," Gandalf let out in annoyance from the front seat. "If I recall correctly, my exact words were "nobody is to disturb the ringbearer unless they want to be thrown out of the cart and do the rest of the journey on foot. If you must speak, do it quietly!""

Sam had to admit to himself that he liked Gandalf's new policy. After all, it allowed him to spend more time alone with Frodo, with no one to disturb them or even call for them. He longed to go to the back of the cart and join him, but he knew that if he spent every day alone with Frodo like he wanted to, their companions would ask questions he wasn't sure he was ready to answer.

Bili looked around for his companions' approval. Pippin was asleep on Merry's shoulder, and Aragorn and Arwen were huddled together by the cart-wall, but everyone else nodded their heads, so Bili took out a violin from wherever Dwarves kept their instruments and started to play a slow melody. It was very nice, of course, but Sam had to admit that he was waiting for the song to be over so he could join Frodo.

Eventually, Bili stopped playing and bowed. Sam almost ran to the end of the cart.

"Don't pay him any mind, lads, he's very worried," he heard Merry say. "Now, I noticed that your song had no words yet. Well, there's a lot of us here in this cart today, and perhaps we could help you with that."

Sam sat next to Frodo and took his hand between his own. It was cold, and Frodo was shivering, but at the same time, his arms were burning up. There was a blanket on his back, but it was doing its job poorly, so Sam brought him another one and gently wrapped him in it.

"Sam," he said softly. "I know -- I -- you remembered Rosie, and you feel nothing for her. Well, that's nice, but -- you don't know what it was like after she died. I mean, you know, but you don't remember. You said you'd never find love again. And that if she were to ever come back, you'd marry her again. You still have your ring, Sam. And you shouldn't put your happiness on hold because of me. I was hopeful you meant it. But now I remember better."

Frodo pressed his head to the railing.

"You came back after so many years and I thought I would have a chance. But you never give up on anyone. You said you loved her, and I'm ready to bring her back for you. I -- I've been -- I say I like it when it hurts, but this is the one thing I can't bear. You're everything to me just like she's everything to you. Sam, I've been looking at you for years. I want you by my side. But I can't."

Sam said nothing, but he held Frodo and kissed his cheek.

"Frodo, I'm moved on before, you know," he explained softly. "I -- before I loved her, I loved you. And, well, now I'm here with you, and I'm happy."

He took Frodo's face between his hands and looked into his eyes.

"There isn't anywhere else I'd rather be but here," he murmured.

"Sam, I don't understand. What is it that you see in me? I'm sad, and I don't smile, and I cry all the time. I can barely get up on my good days, and on my bad days, I'm unconscious. Maybe you love who I used to be rather than who I am right now."

Sam kissed his tears away.

"No, no, no, see, who you are right now is -- it's -- you're selfless, and you're loving, and you're reflective, and you're cautious."

Frodo laughed and gestured to himself.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but -- I'm -- you've seen how I am. I'm like this."

Sam smiled at him, and the love in his eyes was an answer in itself. Frodo let his head fall on his shoulder, and Sam held him gently.

"Even when I feel too sick to have a proper conversation? I don't want -- I'm scared that -- if you take care of me when I'm sick, it'll -- it's so difficult to explain."

"It's like I said: reflective and cautious."

Frodo let out a laugh.

"Oh, Sam, you're lovely, but you can't truly mean it."

"Come on, Frodo, I'm no liar," Sam protested, but he was smiling, and he rested his head on Frodo's shoulder as well. "Frodo, you -- you're -- and here I thought I couldn't feel shy anymore. Please, look at me, it'll be easier this way."

Sam gently held Frodo's face and looked into his eyes.

"I've moved on," he said. "I'm moved on, and I don't feel anything but friendship for her. That's how widowing goes, if you understand me, and I've -- well, how could I stay alone forever when there was such a beautiful man next to me?"

Frodo felt shy and looked down. It made Sam laugh.

"Did I make you blush just now?"

"Absolutely," Frodo admitted.

He passed his hand on Frodo's cheek, and Frodo leaned into it.

"How could I resist your eyes?" he repeated softly. "They're tantalizing. They hold the entire world inside them. When I look into them, I feel rested. Did you know that? It's like a power of your own."

Frodo held Sam closer.

"You're quite the poet, after all."

"Only for you can I turn into one," Sam murmured. "If you want to know, I woke up this morning, and -- well, I'm not sure what came over me, but I started to feel -- I don't know. I looked at you and thought, 'why, he's one of a kind. I wouldn't forgive myself if I let him pass by without marrying him'. And I've been looking at you, and I -- it's like you make me feel warm. I can't feel unhappy when I'm looking into your eyes. I feel like if I don't kiss you, I'll -- well, I don't know what, but, well, I just really want to kiss you. I want to see what's in your head and wait with you until you can feel well-rested again, and, well, that's just it, I can't stop thinking about you, not for one second. It's like no matter how much time we spend together, it's still not enough, and I wish seconds were longer. That's how I'm feeling, Frodo. I want to sit with you here forever. It doesn't make me feel sad like you said -- it only makes me happy, because we're sitting together, and I get to be with you. Frodo, I want to kiss you, and sit with you, and marry you, yet I feel like even eternity won't be long enough a time to spend with you. Won't you kiss me so we don't waste more time?"

He pressed his forehead to Frodo. There was a soft look on his face.

"I could hug you, and kiss you, and hold your hand, but it wouldn't be enough to communicate how strongly I feel about you -- how strongly I've felt throughout the years."

Sam kissed him, and he had a shiver of pleasure.

"Sam, my lovely Sam," he let out. "Oh, Sam, words escape me. We're in a cart, but I want to --"

He cut himself off. The way Frodo was saying his name made Sam feel very shy, and when he looked into his eyes, he could see a spark. 

"Well, you'll see eventually. We have time."

It was the first time in far too long that Frodo thought to himself that he had time, and a future. Sam smiled at him, and as he looked into his brown eyes, he felt rested.

"You know, it pleases me that you say that, because it's all I want: more time with you."

"And you shall have it," said Frodo, and he pressed him against the cart-wall and gave him another kiss.

Sam almost fainted when he felt the touch of Frodo's tongue against his lip. He vaguely heard him say something afterwards, but his mind was so clouded with emotion that he couldn't process it. This is what Frodo had said:

"Sam, if -- well, I would've married you. I would marry you ten times over."

But Sam was too busy feeling flustered to hear anything more than gibberish.

"Begging your pardon, but I can't properly listen to what you're saying -- not after you gave me a kiss like that," Sam laughed breathlessly.

"Like what? Like that?" Frodo teased, and he gave him another one.

He put his hand on Sam's lap and forgot about everything else for a while. Sam gave a delightful little groan and pressed him closer; they stayed like this until the cart stopped in the late afternoon, but it was still morning, and they had all day. Frodo didn't feel sick anymore. There was a fuzzy sort of warmth in his limbs, and he wanted to take Sam by the hand and run all the way to wherever Boromir could be hiding. 

We'll give them some privacy now and go see what the rest of the companions were doing. The Dwarves were still working on the song, and they kept arguing about the tone they wanted to give to the lyrics. Legolas wanted to join their talk, but he was scared that they would not want help from an Elf. He thought that Elves and Dwarves were not so different, after all. Both liked music, which was already something. He had to admit that he had not expected for them to carry instruments wherever they went, nor for one of their great leaders, Thorin Oakenshield, to play the harp of all things. He wondered if there was a logic to it, or if they simply chose instruments they liked.

Most of what he had been told about Dwarves came from centuries of -- was hatred too big of a word? From what he had heard, it was probably close. Unmannered they were called, loud, irritating, unfriendly. Somehow, the Elves had managed to get even the most basic fact about Dwarves wrong: that they loved caves for their beauty, and not for their resources. Greedy they were called, yet just like Elves enjoyed beautiful forests and got their wood somewhere else, Dwarves knew the difference between a mine and a sanctuary. Legolas still remembered the day Gimli had explained it all to him, and how he had fallen even more in love with him upon hearing how much respect he held for the caves that he loved.

It was said that Aulë had made the Dwarves like he imagined the Elves would be. He had not been so far away from the mark. So long he had been told that they were opposites; that Elves danced and sang and wrote poetry, while Dwarves did not; that Elves were soft and delicate, while Dwarves were abrasive and -- he had to stop himself, for it was making his blood boil.

"Are you alright?" Gimli asked.

Legolas shook his head. In his regret, he was almost brought to tears.

"I regret now the centuries our peoples have passed despising one another. Grievous it is to me that our friendship has been lost, so that the wonderful ways of the Dwarves have stayed hidden from us for so long."

The Dwarves looked at him in surprise.

"Perhaps it is not wholly lost," Dori admitted. "Often would Ori use Elvish characters when he wrote."

"And the riddle carved over the entrance to Khazad-dùm is written in Elvish," Bombur added.

"Yet what have we to show for ourselves?" Legolas pressed on.

Gloin nodded to Arwen.

"Here in this cart, we have an Elf who praised our architecture and asked about our ways; and we have another one who has been wearing dwarven-braids with his head held high."

Ironically, Legolas bowed his head and blushed.

"You noticed that," he muttered.

"I don't think I could have done otherwise," Gloin laughed.

"Personally, I don't see the difference," Merry commented.

"See, it's --" Bifur started.

"No," Bilbo warned. "Absolutely not. You are not explaining this again, not when I am forced to listen to it."

"Well, excuse me, master Baggins," Bifur protested in outrage. "What have I ever done to you?"

"You only pestered me until I told you what happened with Thranduil that night," Bilbo accused.

"You're on a first-name basis now," Gloin noted, and everyone started to laugh.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, exasperated.

"Please! Mercy! Will you not let an old man live his life in peace?"

"You're not that old," Bombur shrugged.

"I seem to remember that master Baggins is older than my mother," Aragorn said from where he was sitting and laughing at the conversation.

"Which side are you on?" Bilbo protested.

"I hear mockery," Pippin muttered, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. "Merry, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" Merry answered. "They did this all on their own."

"Wait -- is that true?" Arwen echoed, and she started to laugh. "But that would make you --"

"Seventy-three," Aragorn answered.

It only made Arwen laugh louder.

"You're so young, yet I am still the same," she managed to say. "Somehow, I remembered you older."

Aragorn shook his head, but he was smiling.

"That would make sense."

Arwen eventually calmed herself down.

"It's so strange how time can change people. The last time I saw you, you were an old man; and now you're young again. Truly, it is Iluvatar's greatest and most ingenious design."

They looked at each other, then Bilbo raised his hand.

"Time! Yes! Here's what I almost forgot I was going to say: there is a Dwarf in Valinor now."

Everyone turned to Gimli with wide eyes.

"Who said it was me?" he protested.

"Who brought you there and why is quite obvious to me," Bifur commented. "Tell us, now --"

"Oh no -- oh no, no, no -- don't you dare," Gimli warned. "Don't you dare!"

"Oh, is that why you're wearing elven-braids?" Arwen asked in sudden understanding.

Gimli looked at her in betrayal, and she grinned sheepishly and mouthed "sorry". Aragorn was laughing so much that he couldn't sit straight and had to lean on his betrothed for support.

"Now you simply need to show us," he said.

Gimli shook his head, but he was smiling, now, too. Could it be that he was proud? The thought made Legolas feel something strange inside his gut. Gimli looked at him and noticed his reluctance, so he nodded reassuringly.

"They happen to be mine, and they're too beautiful for your untrained eyes," Gimli protested. "Get your own."

Legolas started to laugh. Gimli's answer had reassured him, so he nodded in approval.

"I'm joking, of course. Take a look," Gimli added, and he removed his hood. "They're beautiful, but I can't love them more than the person who gave them to me."

Gimli's pride warmed Legolas to his core, before he could understand his following words. He felt very pleased with them, and there was love blooming in his chest, until it was so full it felt like he would explode. He reached out for Gimli's hand, and Gimli pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Legolas looked at him and smiled. It would be nice to not need to hide anymore.


	27. Boromir

Frodo's belief that Sam truly chose him wavered a few hours after Sam had fallen asleep and left him to his thoughts. Yet there was still that spark in his eyes, and his smile came more easily. He thought that if Sam were to reject him, perhaps he wouldn't hurt himself. Perhaps he'd simply go live far away.

It seemed impossible now that Sam would choose him. He regretted having lost his happiness from earlier. He didn't know how he could possibly have believed it. Yet even this sadness didn't burn his stomach; instead, he was left with a fuzzy sort of longing for Sam's warmth. He reached out and took his hand. He wanted to sing to him, but he couldn't think of a song, so he didn't.

He wondered if he would pass by the Shire to ask Rosie for Sam's hand, then told himself that if Sam were to come with, he would probably see her and fall in love with her all over again. It made him very sad, of course, but it didn't hurt like sadness usually did. He felt quite peaceful about it. Was it a bad sign?

He realized that Sam still hadn't told him what he had remembered about her. Sighing, Frodo laid back on the cart-wall next to Sam, and slowly placed his head on Sam's shoulder. He closed his eyes and stayed there for a while. It felt good to be so close to him.

This thought somehow managed to make him feel unsteady. He hated the feeling, but even more so hated that he wasn't quite done with his sickness yet. Still, Sam's warmth managed to comfort him enough so that he almost forgot that it was there. He didn't mind Sam staying asleep. There was something special in having him doze off in his company.

Frodo heaved in a deep breath. The afternoon was warmer than the day had been, and the sun's golden rays were turning everything a richer shade of their usual color. It made him think about Rosie. What did Sam say her hair looked like again? 

Eventually, Sam started to wake up. Seeing his confused face made Frodo smile. He wanted to press a soft kiss to his lips to wake him up better.

"Hullo again, Sam!"

"Hullo, Frodo! I can't remember falling asleep. How long has it been?"

"It's afternoon, dear Sam, and we are approaching Gondor."

Sam started to laugh.

"Oh, no -- I've slept for an entire day is what I've done."

He made a move as if he wanted to sit up, but then noticed how close Frodo was. He blushed and snuggled closer.

"Forget it, I'm not moving from this spot. I'm starting to understand why I didn't wake up."

It was Frodo's turn to blush. He felt pleasantly fuzzy and content.

"You know, Sam, I've been wondering, should you like to tell me -- what did you remember about Rosie the other day?"

Sam bit his lip. It took him some time to answer.

"Well, I remember -- see, she was on her deathbed, but I -- well, she looked quite content. She told me that she had a good life, and that she would have a good death now, too. She told me --"

Sam looked away.

"Well, see, she told me lots of things, like how I shouldn't be sad, but I was. It was a difficult memory, it truly was. But it's alright now. You know what I mean, I -- well, she's happy where she is, I'll wager. Should we talk about this on such a bright morning?"

"Dearest Sam, it's about five o'clock right now," Frodo said, amused.

Sam shook his head, then kissed Frodo's hand. It shook away Frodo's sadness for a while. Then Frodo absentmindedly started to caress Sam's arm. It made Sam shiver.

"Sam, I'm sorry she died, and that you had to stay for so long after it, too."

Frodo bowed his head. He tried to hide his tears, but Sam noticed them. He gently tilted his head upwards.

"Let's not talk about it now," Sam repeated. "I can see how sad it's making you."

"Oh, it's nothing, Sam," Frodo protested. "I just -- let's forget about it for now."

Frodo pressed himself against Sam's chest, and Sam wrapped him in his arms; they stayed like this for a long time before the cart stopped. They looked at the road and saw Minas Tirith's glorious silhouette against the sun.

"Gondor! Finally! We'll find the last member of the Fellowship here. Come, Sam! I'm feeling better today. I think I'll join the search."

Sam smiled at him and hugged him right.

"Glory and trumpets! Now, that's blessed to hear, Frodo! I'm ready to go when you are."

And so they got down to the ground, and stood on the little dirt-road for a while. Sam offered Frodo his hand, and he took it. Frodo suddenly felt very shy about showing his face to their companions again, and he thought of going back to hide in the cart. But then someone removed the white sheet, and Pippin jumped out of the cart right in front of them.

"Hullo again, Pippin!" Frodo managed to say after his surprise died down.

"Frodo! You’re alive! And you’re walking!" Pippin cried, and he jumped on him and gave him a hug. "Sam, you could’ve told us he was okay!"

"I -- I wasn’t -- oh, shut up," Sam muttered.

"Merry! Merry, look!" Pippin yelled again.

Gandalf got out of the cart next, worried by Pippin’s shouting, but then he saw Frodo and smiled.

"There you are, Frodo!" he said simply.

"There I am, indeed!" Frodo answered with a self-conscious little wave.

Frodo felt very embarrassed now, and he started to wish that he could faint to skip ahead to the event of the day. Unfortunately for him, he had to be there and smile at his friends, who were all crowding around him and asking him how he was doing. It became very draining after a while, and Sam had to shoo everyone away.

"It’s barely been five minutes and I’m already exhausted," Frodo muttered.

Sam started to laugh.

"I’ll try to keep you alive," he answered.

"You better," Frodo protested with a smile.

"Come now! We have things to do, and a friend to fetch. Let us not waste any more time," Gandalf interrupted in his booming voice.

Everyone got out their gear.

"I forgot how tiring this all was," Frodo said to Sam. "There are so many of us here, and they’re all talking so loudly!"

"It’ll be alright, sir, just hold onto my hand," Sam said soothingly.

"Did you just call me sir?" Frodo teased.

"No," Sam lied.

It made Frodo laugh. Merry looked at them and grimaced.

"Come on, Sam, won’t you share him?" Merry protested.

"Share me?" Frodo echoed, and he started to laugh louder.

"Absolutely not," Sam refused. "Get your own. I’m not sharing."

Frodo’s laughter redoubled.

"See, that’s what I said," Gimli commented.

"What?"

"You will not believe --" Bifur started.

"Be quiet," Bilbo protested. "Or I’ll throw you out of the cart myself."

"I’ll throw you out of life," Bifur snapped back.

"Oh, don’t fight," Arwen pleaded.

"Please, fight," Bombur cut her off.

"Please, friends, we have things to do today," Aragorn soothed. "Maybe they’ll fight later," he whispered to Arwen.

She elbowed him, and he started to laugh.

"Finally, someone is talking sense," Gandalf grumbled. "I’m going now, and I shan't turn back, so keep close!"

This shook the companions out of their arguing, and they finally got going. Frodo looked at his friends, and felt tears escape him.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked Frodo.

"Oh, I am, I just -- well, I forgot how much -- well, they’re rather endearing, the lot of them, are they not?"

"They are," Sam agreed.

Sam reached out to kiss his brow, then noticed that Merry was looking at them in disgust, so he kissed Frodo anyway and made a face to his friend.

"Get your own, Merry Brandybuck," he repeated.

"Ew, don’t touch me," Pippin immediately let out, and he punched Merry in the arm.

Merry raised his hands in outrage.

"What's wrong with you? I didn't even look at you," Merry protested in disgust. "Why did you even feel called out? You’re fourteen!"

"Because you're standing right next to me!"

"Just shut up," Merry groaned. "Ew," he repeated with a shiver.

"Excuse me, am I really that disgusting?" Pippin asked in annoyance.

"Of course, you are! You’re a baby," Merry explained. "You’re a tiny little annoying baby. And you still drink milk."

"You know what? That’s fair," Pippin shrugged.

"I’m sorry to interrupt this fantastic conversation," Frodo interrupted. "But I simply have to ask you to look over there for a while. Look at how beautiful Minas Tirith is!"

Everyone turned around to admire the white city.

"You know what I’ve realized a little while earlier? Well, the intendant of Gondor -- well, in the future, I mean -- well, he must be around twenty right now. He gets married to the lady Éowyn of Rohan, and, well, she can’t be over ten."

"Oh, why would you say that?" Aragorn complained from in front of them, with his face in his hands. "Also, she’s nine."

"And he’s twenty-one" Gandalf added.

Aragorn shivered.

"Oh, that's simply strange," Aragorn muttered.

"I too am a lot older than you," Arwen protested sadly.

"The age gap doesn't bother me as much as does the idea of meeting your lover when one is grown and the other is not," Aragorn explained.

Arwen nodded.

"I see now."

"Am I a child to you?" Aragorn asked in worry.

"Of course not, you're seventy-three. You're young enough for me to laugh, but you're a grown man already. You even have care lines."

She caressed his face gently.

"I do not," Aragorn let out softly, but he was looking at her with love in his eyes.

"Please, spare me," Pippin whined to himself, then he turned to Merry. "I'm going to punch you if you ever do this with your wife right in front of me."

"What did I ever do to you?" Merry grumbled.

"You were born," Pippin explained with a smug grin.

"I'm the one who was forced to stick around when you were still wearing diapers."

"You know, it was Sam who managed to get you and Estella to talk," Frodo interrupted. "I think it was revenge for teasing him about his wife. Well, future wife. It was funny," he added appreciatively.

They halted under the sign of an inn. Frodo took advantage of the fact that nobody was looking at them and he kissed Sam on the cheek. Sam blushed.

"There we are!" Gandalf announced. "Now, everyone, please stop talking -- if you can."

"Why?" Pippin let out.

"Because I'm tired of hearing you," Gandalf muttered.

"Come now, you love us!" Bombur cried.

"Don't test my patience," said Gandalf, and he pushed open the door.

"Can you test something that doesn't exist?" Dwalin grumbled, and he followed him.

"That's a little rude," Arwen commented.

Aragorn kissed her cheek.

"Don't worry, it's all just teasing between good friends. Besides, I'm sure he didn't hear."

"I did, and I also said to stop talking -- so stop talking and hurry."

Pippin snickered and pulled Merry by the sleeve to force him to hurry.

"Don't touch me," Merry said sarcastically.

"I hate you," Pippin grumbled.

Soon enough, everyone had entered the inn. It was crowded, or looked to be at first, until Frodo realized that most of the people were asleep. Gandalf looked at him expectantly, so Frodo took the lead while everyone else was waiting by the door. Was anyone even awake here? He held onto Sam's hand as they elbowed their way through the crowd.

"This is unsettling," Sam let out.

"I almost forgot what it was like," Frodo agreed, and he squeezed Sam's hand to reassure him. "Do you think we'll find Boromir in here?"

He passed a hand on his brow.

"I think we will," Sam said hopefully. "Oh -- are you alright?"

"Oh, it's alright. I'm not sick, just overwhelmed. It's very warm in here, too."

He tried to stay strong, but it was no use, he was starting to shake; Sam's eyes went wide and he helped him sit down.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I thought I was getting better."

Sam didn't answer and kissed his brow. His arms were warm and reassuring, and when Frodo was in their embrace, he could forget about the whole world. He started to cry. Sam held him tighter and pressed kisses to his cheek until Frodo felt strong enough to look into his eyes. The strange fuzziness came back, instead of the pain he had grown accustomed to. He felt that he could breathe more easily. With a sigh, he leaned his head into Sam's shoulder and closed his eyes. He started to feel warm again; this simple feeling almost brought him to tears. Sam's hand was on his cheek, and he leaned into it; between his familiar scent and his reassuring touch, Frodo felt soothed and loved. He almost felt like he didn't deserve it, but didn't bring it up, because he knew that Sam would argue.

"Come on, now," he let out. "We need to find Boromir."

"Are you up to it?" Sam asked softly.

"Well, I don't know, but it's nice to be out of the cart, for once."

He stood up and wiped his eyes. He felt a little lost now.

"Alright, then. Give me your hand, and your Sam will show you the way."

Frodo smiled and gave Sam his hand like he had asked.

"I think it's lovely when you say that," Frodo murmured.

His head was still full of worries, but Sam's soft eyes washed them all away. They looked at each other until a noise turned their attention to the back-door. Frodo's eyes went round as he recognized the voice.

"That makes no sense. People go to Harad often. Mithrandir would have known," Boromir was arguing.

"And yet there is a golden wood on its shore," Faramir insisted.

"None have ever seen it move," Boromir protested.

"Sam, Sam, that's him -- that's him! Listen! I'll go talk to him now. Please, stay here. It shouldn't take long."

Sam held his hand until he was too far away to keep going; then, he laid his head on his fist and kept looking at Frodo as he walked away. He couldn't tear his eyes off of him.

Sam let out a sigh. It had barely been a second and he already wanted him to be back.

"Well, hello there, Sam!" said Bilbo's voice without any warning whatsoever.

"Good grief, sir! You've scared me half to death!" Sam wheezed, clutching his chest.

Bilbo slapped him on the back.

"I apologize, my lad. I was trying to hide from Gloin and saw you here. I thought I could join you. It's better than sitting with these poor people."

Sam shuffled to the side and gave Bilbo room to sit down.

"And between you and me, seeing poor Frodo head off into this crowd worried me. I'm rather fond of him, I must say."

"He has that effect on people," Sam said with a smile. "I mean, that, and, well, you're his uncle."

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully. He looked troubled.

"You know, I haven't recovered many memories of him. It's been bothering me. I assume he must have been quite important to me. After all, Gandalf introduced him to Aragorn as my son."

"I thought you didn't bring up anything because you preferred to keep them to yourself," Sam let out, shocked.

Bilbo shook his head in frustration.

"Well, little Pippin used to sleep too much for his own good, and both Rohan and the Lonely Mountain were almost free of sleepwalkers. Perhaps there's a pattern that we simply can't recognize yet. Look at this inn! It's dark with people, yet almost each of them is talking nonsense and drinking from empty mugs. Perhaps it goes in waves. We still don't know why some of us are awake while others are not."

Sam had no idea what to answer. Had he known that Primula had been awake the first day of the dream, he would have brought it up, but Frodo had not told him yet.

"I'm sure it'll turn out fine, sir. Maybe we don't even need to fix anything."

Bilbo sighed and looked over his shoulder to where the Dwarves were joining forces to annoy poor Gimli to death.

"I have the feeling that not all of us will be granted passage into Valinor when our journey is over," he said sadly. "Nothing confirmed it, of course, but I know in my heart that it's true. Now I ask myself: should I stay here with them, or leave and never see them again? Either choice would be painful. We haven't all been granted the mercy of being immortal. I know that if I go back to Valinor, they won't be there anymore."

As if he was suddenly realizing what he had been talking about, Bilbo gave a dismissive shake of his hand.

"Why, these are grave thoughts I've chosen to share tonight. Please, ignore my ramblings, and tell me instead why you're sitting alone in this gloomy place."

"Well, I was only waiting for Frodo, sir."

Bilbo nodded.

"He's quite fond of you, you know."

"Oh, I'm very fond of him too, sir," Sam answered.

Bilbo gave an exasperated laugh.

"Why, I can tell. You know, I talked to him about you when we were in Erebor. Frodo would wait for you forever, Sam, that's how much he loves you -- but please, don't make him. It's been a hundred years, he told me, and you still haven't done anything. I've seen how you look at him. What on Earth would make you wait this long?"

Sam bit his lip and looked away.

"You're not getting out of this conversation before you give me a good answer," Bilbo warned.

Sam closed his eyes, as though he was gathering his courage, then blurted out:

"Fine, I didn't know if he liked men, that's all."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but he looked satisfied with his answer.

"That's all I wanted to hear," Bilbo said. "Now, answer me this: how on earth did you manage to spend hundreds of years with him and not see anything? He's not exactly hiding it well! He's never even gotten married!"

"Well, I'm a little slow on the uptake," Sam answered sheepishly.

Bilbo sighed.

"And now he's gone on to think that you were acting like that because you were being faithful to your wife," he said regretfully. "How did any of this even happen? I thought -- a hundred years!" he exclaimed in irritation. "He waited for you because he thought you were still grieving her -- I -- Sam, my lad, you're going to get up from this chair right now and tell him that you've moved on before I ask Gandalf to turn you into a frog, which might be better for the poor boy's heart anyway."

Sam shook his head, incapable of forming words. He sounded so much like Gandalf that he found himself getting up from his chair at once.

"I -- yes, sir," he blurted out.

"There! Now go," Bilbo ordered, and Sam disappeared into the crowd.

Sam was starting to feel lost when he saw a hint of orange under a table.

"Frodo?" he called hesitantly.

"Sam! There you are!" Frodo answered happily, and the hint of orange turned into his friend's shirt as Frodo reached out for his hand.

Sam took it and kissed it.

"Have you found Boromir yet?"

"He's been arguing with Faramir about -- about something. I thought I would wait until they stopped, but they haven't."

He gave Sam a goofy smile and laid on his back. Sam smiled at him, suddenly very aware of how much he loved him.

"Can I ask why you're sitting under a table?"

"It's nice down here, and it's cool. It also feels less crowded -- like a little cave. Why don't you give it a try?"

Sam smiled and laid down next to him. For some reason, Frodo blushed.

"It's rather nice indeed, but the company is better," he admitted.

It made Frodo laugh, but Sam wasn't finished.

"The, er -- the reason why I didn't, um, tell you anything before is because -- oh, I've moved on from Rosie, I have. The only reason why is that, well, I thought somehow you weren't interested in, well, in men."

Frodo looked at him without saying anything for a while. Sam looked away. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his neck, and a tongue met his, and Frodo was pressing himself against Sam. Then he kissed his jaw, and his neck, and his collarbone. Sam, in his surprise, was completely incapable of forming words for a while, other than:

"What?"

"Sam, oh Sam, why did you tell me this under a table?" Frodo protested, and kissed his neck again. "That's not fair."

"Well, I hardly thought that this was the reaction you were going to have," Sam somehow managed to defend himself between Frodo's feverish kisses and his own shivers of pleasure.

Frodo rested his head on Sam's shoulder like he was restraining himself. His skin was soft.

"That's not fair," he repeated. "It's not the right time -- we have things to do -- and yet --"

Sam didn't add anything. He was too busy feeling all sorts of improper things. Then Frodo looked up, as though he was listening to something.

"They're not arguing anymore," Frodo let out.

"How did you even notice that?"

"I can multitask," Frodo answered, and Sam laughed a little breathless laugh.

Then Frodo moved away, and Sam gave him a pout. It made him laugh.

"No -- already?" Sam whined. "You're leaving me here all alone?" 

"Not forever, my dear Sam. And you don't need to stay under the table either.

Sam pressed his lips to his hand.

"I happen to like it here. It's cozy, and private, and --"

"Sam, you're being so very unhelpful," Frodo laughed.

"I like to be unhelpful sometimes," Sam said softly.

Frodo smiled at him fondly.

"Oh, Sam."

"You know, I like it when you say that."

"Please, stop, or I'll stay here forever."

Sam smiled, kissed Frodo's hand again, then let him go. Frodo liked how he held onto his hand until the last second. Then he emerged from under the table and reached the spot where the two brothers were sitting. He sat on a chair for a second to calm his nerves and get back to the task at hand, then climbed onto a table and waved at them.

"Do you really believe that Ents and Entwives exist?"

Faramir was about to answer when he noticed Frodo. He elbowed his brother.

"Was there not a Halfling in your dream?" he let out softly.

"Why, there were a few --"

Then he followed Faramir's gaze and clasped a hand over his mouth. Frodo felt himself smile under his tears. He looked the same as he had always been, only younger and less tortured -- and much more alive. Frodo jumped from the table and reached them, and he took Boromir's hands in his own.

"Boromir, son of Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Captain of Gondor, cherished member of the Fellowship of the Ring, dearest friend and companion -- I never thought I would see your face again. Yet here you are!"

He couldn't say much more, because he was starting to cry. Sam scrambled to his side and held him in his arms, and that simple gesture seemed to stir up Boromir's memories of them further.

"Frodo and Samwise?" Boromir let out softly, like he was afraid of breaking a spell.

Frodo somehow managed to nod. He heard Legolas give a cry, and knew that they had finally noticed him. There was a great commotion, and many tears, and even if Frodo didn't listen to much of it, he knew that, after so many years, the Fellowship of the Ring was back together.

Frodo was discovering that he disliked reunions. The only thing he paid attention to, because he found it very sweet, was how Merry and Pippin ran to him and hugged him tightly, and he kissed their curly little heads and held their little hands and said that he thought the Orcs had killed them. Then Gandalf shooed everyone away by the back-door. Boromir's eyes widened again when he saw him.

"You fell," he protested.

"Yet here I am," Gandalf said, and he was smiling. "Come, now, everyone, let us leave this dreadful place -- and we shall take the time to give poor Faramir some explanations, too."

And so everyone left the inn by the little back-door. The fresh evening air was a nice change from the inn's warm, suffocating atmosphere. Frodo didn't feel as exhausted as he had anticipated, but he still enjoyed the feeling of grass under his feet. He sat down next to Sam and laid on his back, and found that he was quite tired, after all. Most of all, he wanted to go back somewhere where he would only have Sam with him.

"Maybe we should go back to the cart," Frodo said. "I don't know. This is ridiculous."

But he was starting to feel more and more exhausted, so eventually, he took Sam's hand. They said their goodbyes and headed off in the darkness. Then Frodo curled up next to Sam and closed his eyes. The day had not been what he had been expecting it to be. He had to admit that he was feeling disappointed in himself for not staying with his friends more. However, he knew that now that he was lying comfortably on Sam's shoulder, there was nothing that would make him move.


	28. A lesson in astronomy

"Sam, do you think we're missing out on good things by staying here?" Frodo asked the next morning. "I mean, we're in Middle-Earth after all these years, and we're seeing people and places we'll probably never see again, and yet here we are, sitting in a cart alone together. I know that our trip has more time behind it than it does in front of it, and, well, I'm not sure I even want it to end. I mean, this has been nice."

Sam was barely awake, and he looked very confused. His eyes were closing on their own. Frodo smiled at the sight of him.

"Oh, Sam, I'm sorry. I woke you up without thinking."

"M'awake," Sam muttered.

Frodo tried not to laugh.

"Are you sure you're awake?" he teased.

Sam couldn't answer. He kissed Frodo's cheek, then settled back down and fell asleep again. Frodo felt very tender now, and he held him tighter.

Eventually, Frodo started to look around. His head was full of worries again. He was wondering if their chemistry was enough, if they would end up getting married, if they would be happy together, if they would separate. Perhaps to love someone was to try anyway, regardless of the risk, but that didn't stop Frodo from being scared. He thought about Aragorn and Arwen, and Gimli and Legolas (who had never explicitly told him that they were a couple, but it was pretty obvious) -- and remembered how he had told himself that he was in a love story just like theirs. Of course he loved Sam, but he was wondering if it was enough. He liked spending time with him and sharing sweet moments together; and yesterday, when he had kissed him under the table, he had wanted to stay forever in his arms. Was that enough? It probably was.

Frodo looked at Sam's sleeping face again, and he couldn't resist passing a hand over his jaw. He laid down next to him and thought that it was nice to watch him rest. He looked peaceful. Frodo reached out for his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to Sam's brow. Sam made a happy noise and snuggled closer. Frodo told himself that he was being absurd and that he would marry this man as soon as they set foot on Valinor.

He heard music coming from a little ways off. He recognized the merry ring of elven music, and climbed up on the cart to see what was happening. It looked like Arwen and Legolas were trying to show an elven dance to everyone, but they both knew a different version of it. The companions were laughing at them and clapping. Arwen was beet-red and she couldn't stop laughing in her embarrassment. When the song ended, they went back to sit with their friends, and Arwen was too shy to look anywhere but at the ground for a few minutes. Everyone looked happy (well, except Arwen, but it would pass). She pressed her face to Aragorn's shoulder and stayed there. He patted her back reassuringly.

"Who's next?" Dwalin asked, because he was in charge of the music. "Do wizards make music?"

"No," Gandalf answered without looking up from his pipe.

"Gandalf!" Pippin protested.

"They do not," Gandalf repeated.

Gandalf had to admit that if his companions liked to annoy him from time to time, he too liked to do it to them. That's why he was laughing to himself as Pippin glared at him.

"I might know a few songs," Aragorn let out, but as soon as people started to turn to him, he realized that he would need to get up and dance, and he looked back down at his feet. "I've changed my mind. I'm not going. Someone else may go."

There were a few annoyed grunts over the fire.

"Why is everyone so shy? It's only a dance!" Pippin exploded.

"Look over there! Here's Frodo!" Arwen suddenly called, and she pointed to the cart.

Frodo immediately went to hide, but his friends had seen him, and they were laughing and calling him. He eventually popped out from behind the cart again and gave them a little wave; they exploded into cheers. There were shouts for him to come down and join them, but since Frodo didn't want to leave Sam alone, he shook his head. They started to boo him, but it only made him laugh.

"What is the difference between elven-braids and dwarven-braids, exactly?" Merry asked again.

"Why would you ask that?" Bilbo exploded.

Bifur turned to Bilbo with a smug grin.

"He wants to know," he teased.

Bilbo whined.

"I beg of you to be quiet."

"Is there a difference?" Boromir whispered to Aragorn.

Aragorn snickered and rolled his eyes.

"It's not in the braid itself, but in the way it's used," Aragorn explained.

"Ah," Boromir let out, then he looked away.

Faramir looked at him for a moment, then stood up.

"If you'll excuse me, I shall need a moment alone with my brother," he explained.

"Alright," Boromir answered.

Faramir brought him out of earshot from the group then turned to him and frowned.

"Are these people not your friends?"

"They are," Boromir answered, even more perplexed.

"Then why are you not laughing, or smiling, or making jokes?"

Boromir shrugged.

"I should not be sitting among them. I betrayed them once."

"Nonsense," Faramir protested.

"I attacked the little one and tried to take the Ring," Boromir reminded him painfully.

"It was an evil thing made for the purpose of swaying souls to its master! It was not your fault, it was the Ring."

Boromir crossed his arms.

"Yet you did not take it."

"Of course not, seeing as I am much better than you at everything," Faramir answered sarcastically, but his joke fell flat.

"I know that you are only teasing, but you may be right still."

"What? No -- of course I'm wrong!" Faramir exclaimed.

"Nobody else in our Fellowship tried to take it away. I heard that Frodo tried to give it to the lady Galadriel, and even then, she was able to refuse it. And Samwise gave it back after wearing it. They say that it holds immense power, yet most of the people we encountered on our journey had little to no trouble refusing its call, other than me..."

He let out a discouraged laugh.

"And Gollum."

"And Isildur," Faramir reminded him, "and the Ringwraiths --"

"That's very flattering," Boromir protested. "But, well, perhaps I deserve it. I suppose that what I did makes me no better than them."

He sat on the ground.

"I still don't know why they were able to refuse it when I wasn't. Am I much worse a person than I thought I was?"

Faramir frowned in worry.

"Isildur was one of our greatest leaders, and the Ringwraiths were kings. I don't know who or what Gollum was, but I know you, and you're a good man, too."

Boromir gave a little nod.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Faramir shook his head and sat down next to him.

"You know, when I learned of your death, I said things I regret, too. I suppose it took me some time to understand what happened and why. But it wasn't your fault, Boromir."

"What did you say?" Boromir asked, half-amused, half-worried.

"Well, I thought that the Ring got to you because of your pride. You are a great warrior, and you think Gondor needs no king. I thought, well, that you wanted to be the hero Gondor needs by taking the Ring and using it to save us."

"What? No, no -- why would I do that?" Boromir echoed. "I mean -- of course, but -- not -- I -- I do not consider myself such a selfish man!"

He had a little horrified laugh.

"No, no, I -- I was going to be -- well see, we never really talk about these things, but perhaps we should have. I would have ruled after Father. I had to worry about everyone. Yet I would not have been king. It insulted me, I admit it -- in the way a child could feel burdened by his father preferring another child despite all his efforts. It was no pride, it was hurt -- the feeling of not being good enough. I thought, 'what can a king do that I cannot? Am I not set out to be a good leader?' I do not know why we kept our tradition going for so long, but you know how people are. They never let me forget that I would only ever be second to the mythical king who would come back. I thought, 'what right does this king have to the throne? I have lived and fought for our country since I was old enough to perform my duties, and yet when this king comes out of the shadows, he will immediately get the title without earning it first.' Is that not unfair? Faramir, my brother, I do not consider myself proud, but I shall admit that I had a weakness, and that I still have it: I wanted to prove myself to everyone. And if I have another weakness, my brother, it is love: love for my country, perhaps bittersweet sometimes, powered perhaps by my need to prove myself, but love nonetheless. I love our people like I love my family, and I wish to protect them. Please, believe me when I say that my main thought was to save the city that I love and grew up in. Nothing in this world could have overpowered that feeling."

Boromir looked down again. Faramir pressed a hand to his shoulder.

"You know, when you died, I became the intendant in your place."

Boromir let out a laugh.

"You must have hated it."

Faramir smiled.

"Thankfully, my work was lighter, for the king had come back."

Boromir rolled his eyes, disgusted.

"Please, spare me."

"That was not what I intended to talk about. I meant to say that when you passed --"

He had to wipe his tears before he could continue.

"When you passed, Father told me that he wished I had died in your place."

Boromir stared at his brother in silent horror.

"Excuse me?" he let out.

"He did!"

"I know! Yet I cannot believe my ears! Why would he say something so cruel?"

"I cannot truly blame him, for I know how he was feeling. I too wished you were still alive."

"No, no, no, Faramir, you --" 

Faramir held up his hand.

"Please, stop interrupting me! What I am attempting to say but cannot find the words for is that I think I can understand how you feel. Father used to tell me that he wished I was more like you. He never hid the fact that he loved you more. Now I am grown, and I doubt I would be happy to receive his affection after everything he has said and done." 

He laughed at his own words.

"But still, the pressure you feel and the injustice you suffer from -- both of these I can understand. No matter what I do, Father would always look at you in praise, and at me in contempt."

Boromir patted his brother in the back.

"A good thing it was, then, that you were Mithrandir's favorite," Boromir suggested.

Faramir shrugged.

"He's not Father."

Boromir nodded in understanding.

"When I thought that he had passed, I wondered how I would share the news with you," Boromir admitted. "In a way, I am glad that I never got to see your reaction."

Faramir looked at his brother with tears in his eyes.

"I am very fond of Mithrandir, but I must say that I would gladly have lost him a thousand times if it meant I would have kept you. I am sorry, Boromir, for what I said when you died. I was lost and angry, and my words were harsh -- but untrue. I meant none of them."

Boromir held his brother tightly against his shoulder. They held each other and wept for a while, struck by grief, then Boromir wiped his eyes and laughed. He punched his brother in the arm.

"How dare you make me cry!"

"Perhaps we should remedy that -- and quickly, before they send out a search-party."

"I think I shall stay here for now."

Faramir nodded and headed back to the fire.

"Try not to brood too much, then."

Then he turned around and looked at his brother like he was trying not to cry again.

"I love you, brother."

Boromir shook his head, then shooed Faramir away.

"I love you too, brother. Now, please, leave me before you make me weep again!"

The sun had risen in the sky, and it had turned a bright blue. Yet Boromir felt sadness in his heart, and he was in no mood to get back to his companions yet. He stayed there for a while.

Sam woke up around that time, and he found Frodo peeking over the cart-wall like a child. He didn't look like one, however, and Sam had to tear his eyes away before it became impolite.

"Good morning," he eventually murmured shyly.

"Oh! Sam! Good morning!" Frodo said, and as he turned to him, his face was lit up by a smile.

Sam took his hand and gently pulled him close until they were sitting together by the cart-wall. He felt very tender, so he held Frodo's face in his hands and pressed his lips to his. Frodo found him warm, and his embrace was reassuring. It was all very lovely. Frodo found himself imagining a future where every morning would be like this. Sam felt Frodo smile against him.

"I wish we could stay here and do this forever," Frodo sighed.

"Why not? What's stopping us?" Sam protested, and he tilted his head in a way that made Frodo's heart flutter.

"Don't we need to go eat?"

"We do," Sam muttered reluctantly. "But we're coming back here afterwards."

Frodo blushed a dark red.

"Alright," Frodo said with a smile.

Sam kissed Frodo's neck.

"Sam, I'm not food," Frodo protested.

"Five more minutes," Sam argued.

"What, I -- I --" Frodo tried to answer, but then he smiled.

He had to admit that it was very pleasant to hear Sam say that.

"Alright, alright. I'll gladly stay here longer."

Sam kissed him again, and he melted against it. Frodo rested his back against the wall and let his head fall on Sam's shoulder. He gave a happy sigh. He felt a little guilty for being so romantic and soft all of a sudden, but then told himself that there were worse faults.

"I feel like we're going to stay here longer than five minutes," he commented.

"I would've stopped on time," Sam assured.

"Would you?" Frodo laughed.

Sam nodded.

"Aren't you perfect?" he murmured, and kissed Sam again.

"That's not right. I'm not perfect," Sam answered.

Frodo pressed a hand to his cheek. He was in complete disagreement, but, well, he was very biased. But then again, this was Sam. Did anyone truly dislike Sam?

"You are to me," he let out.

Sam leaned against his hand, and they smiled at each other. He looked very content.

"That's alright, then."

Frodo looked at his smile, then at his eyes, then at the way he was pressing himself against his hand.

"Oh, Sam, I love you," he let out. "Why, I'm saying this a lot."

"Please, don't stop. It's lovely to hear it," Sam murmured.

"Don't enable me," Frodo protested.

They kissed each other again. He could feel Sam's warmth against his chest, and his neck. He had meant it: he wished they could stay like this forever, without worrying about food or water or daily tasks. Only the two of them and their love. As soon as he said that to himself, he was reminded of Arwen's exasperating admiration for Aragorn -- which was perhaps part of the reason why he disliked it when he felt romantic himself. Either way, he had to admit that the situation was pleasant enough to stay in forever. It was as though he was stuck in a very soft cloud, and time had stopped moving.

"Do we need to stop after five minutes?" Frodo let out.

"Didn't you want to eat?"

"We have to... But we don't have to -- but we need to... But I want to stay here," Frodo whined.

"We'll come back afterwards," Sam promised.

"Noooo," Frodo protested, and he wrapped his arms tighter around Sam. "Don't make me get up."

"Well, I can't argue with that," Sam said tenderly, and he squeezed Frodo in his arms and pressed a kiss to his hair. "I didn't even want to get up in the first place."

"Perfect," Frodo muttered. "You know, you're very comfortable. I would sleep here if I could."

Sam stroked his hair.

"But then I would miss you," Sam protested softly.

Frodo made a sound that was probably supposed to be a sentence (for the record, it was "leave me here to die") and pressed himself closer to Sam like he was nestling deeper into a soft pillow. Sam felt very happy with it, too, and he started to caress Frodo's arms, and his back. Frodo told himself that it was lucky he couldn't fall asleep, because he would've missed out on his soft touch otherwise.

It's very difficult to describe these sorts of soft, calm moments, because nothing much happens in them, yet the feeling itself is memorable. Frodo would say that it was like the world had turned in an array of pale pinks, soft purples, and radiant golds, or that the only thing he felt was Sam's warmth. Either way, he would have insisted that the feeling was delightful. They stayed there for longer than five minutes (around ten, actually). Eventually, Frodo raised his head and looked at Sam with the face of someone who had just woken up from deep sleep. He felt as rested as if he had slept. He decided not to get up and laid his head down again. He wanted to say something sweet to Sam, but he didn't know what. There was a warm fuzziness in his body now.

He started to get hungry after a while, but he wasn't quite ready to get up yet, so he opened his eyes and stared at Sam's face for a few minutes, caressing his jaw and pressing kisses to his hands. Eventually, he managed to sit back up, and it was Sam's turn to whine.

"No, don't go," Sam let out pitifully.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said, because even if he knew that Sam was joking, his tone of voice was still heart-wrenching.

Sam held him by the waist and pressed his head to his back. It was very comforting.

"Only for a minute," Sam bargained in his ear.

Only then did Frodo realize how closely Sam was holding him, and it made him feel a different kind of warmth. He tentatively pulled on his hands to get Sam to hold him tighter. It made him shiver. Then Sam pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, and Frodo made a strange noise and leaned into his touch.

"It's been a minute," Sam added after a few more seconds. "I'm good to go."

Frodo let out an outraged noise, but he was laughing.

"Alright, alright," he let out.

Sam was smiling, and it couldn't have been later than nine o'clock. It was still autumn somehow, and the leaves were red in the trees. Frodo decided that it was a lovely day. It reminded him of Valinor somehow -- back when he enjoyed it. He remembered the feeling that had seeped into every root and every twig in the island during the wedding. Nienna had been so happy that everyone had shared her mirth. Every light had seemed brighter, even if she was not Varda, Lady of the Stars -- and the sea's turquoise waves had seemed to crash joyfully onto a shore that seemed more orange than usual. For a moment, that's how Frodo felt: like the world was rejoicing.

"Come now, Sam! I'm eager to see everyone."

When they approached, the company started to cheer again, and Frodo decided that he wasn't that eager, actually. He hid his face in his hands and went to sit next to Gandalf.

"Frodo, you missed all the dancing," Merry said.

Arwen made a face as though she was telling him that he hadn't missed a lot. It made Aragorn smile.

"Where did Boromir go?" Pippin suddenly asked.

Faramir shrugged.

"Oi, Boromir!" he cried.

"What?" came Boromir's answering cry.

"He went over there, it seems," he answered uselessly, and went back to eating.

"Thanks," Pippin grimaced.

"Did he get lost?" Legolas wondered.

"Is that even possible?" Gimli argued.

Merry looked at the both of them in confusion.

"What is the difference --" Merry started again.

"Hold up, hold up, let me explain," Bifur exclaimed over Bilbo's dismayed grumbling.

He was interrupted by footsteps. Boromir appeared out of a row of trees.

"What did you --" he started, and then he saw Frodo and immediately regretted his decision to come back around the fire.

He couldn't help but make a face, so he turned to Faramir to try to hide it. Guilty is how he looked, guilty and heartbroken.

"Did you need me?" he asked.

"There you are!" Pippin yelled joyfully. "Come sit with us!"

He would have said no if Merry and him had not pulled on his sleeve to get him to sit down. It was too adorable for him to offer much resistance. And so he sat between them, and told himself that meteorites were wonderful things that ought to visit Arda more often -- right now would be a good time.

"What were you doing?" Aragorn asked.

Boromir looked around and stuttered something that eventually became a sentence.

"Looking at the stars," he blurted out.

"It's daytime," Aragorn protested.

"That's why I stayed there for so long," Boromir answered almost jokingly.

The only thing he could think about was that his brother had been right about him. He was selfish, and proud, and they were right to hate him. He decided to make himself scarce and added nothing for a long time.

"Now, as I was saying, the difference --"

"Oh, here we go again," Bilbo muttered.

Since Bifur's explanation was full of confusing examples and untranslatable technical terms, we shall only hear a summary of it. Elven braids tend to be delicate and ornamental; an Elf may wear one or two little braids in his hair for decoration. Dwarven braids, however, serve a more technical purpose, which is to keep a Dwarf's hair and beard out of his face as he's mining. A single dwarven braid can be made of both beard-hair and head-hair at the same time. They tend to be very complex and knotted together in patterns. Here was the gist of it.

"Well, I could've guessed that," Merry commented when Bifur was done. "I thought that there was a difference in the braid itself."

Bifur glanced at Bilbo before stage-whispering "I know" to Merry. Bilbo almost pushed him out of his seat in his annoyance. Boromir considered using the confusion to his advantage and escaping while everyone was busy, but the donkey walked over to him and sat on his feet. He stared frustratingly at the donkey, who only looked at him with its big, round eyes.

"Does he have a name?" Boromir asked in a little voice. "The, er, the donkey," he added.

"If he does, he hasn't told me," Gandalf answered.

"You didn't name him?" Sam protested.

"I hardly see why I should, given as he's not mine."

"But it's -- it's the -- it's a donkey," Frodo stammered uselessly.

Gandalf shook his head. He looked very amused. Boromir kept staring at the beast. There was something in its eyes that reminded him of Galadriel. He decided not to pet it. The donkey looked quite insulted about it, too, and turned its head to look somewhere else.

"Fine, fine, here we go," Boromir muttered, and he gave it a little scratch. "There. Are you happy now?"

The donkey huffed. Boromir took that as a no, and continued to pet him. He felt his companions staring at him, and decided that it was all Faramir's fault -- or his own, for choosing to follow them out of the inn in the first place. At least, the donkey didn't look too angry, which was nice. 

Eventually, the Dwarves left them to their reunion. Bilbo and Arwen went with them. Faramir left, too, and Boromir promised himself that he would murder him later. Only the fellowship was left now, but nobody was talking, and the silence was deafening. Then Frodo gave him a bright smile, and he started to feel very confused.

"Boromir! I can't begin to tell you how happy I am that you're here with us today. It's nice to have the Fellowship of the Ring back together."

"Isn't it!" Merry cried.

Unfortunately, the ground didn't seem keen on swallowing him, so Boromir had to nod. There was no good answer -- well, there was, but he didn't know if he could say it. He looked at the ground again. He didn't want to bring up any of his questions, or talk about anything, because he was terrified of looking up and seeing anger in their eyes.

"Are you not happy to see us?" Frodo asked.

"Oh, no, it's truly extraordinary to be reunited like this."

"Then why do you look so sad?"

He found that he didn't want to say something that would make their anger explode, so he changed the subject.

"How did the War end?"

"Well," Pippin started, "Frodo and Sam got the ring into Mount Doom, and the rest of us went to fight Sauron at the gates of Barad-dur, and then Merry fought the Witch-king, and, um, lots of battles."

"You got the chronology backwards," Merry corrected.

"And then…?" Boromir pressed.

"And then Strider became king of Gondor, and he married Arwen, and Sam married Rosie, and I married Diamond, and Merry married Estella, and Gimli and Legolas married each other, probably --"

"Did you?" Frodo interrupted.

They blushed and didn't answer, which was already very telling.

"And then Frodo didn't get married and he left for Valinor, but he might have gotten married there, who knows --"

"I didn't," Frodo informed him.

"Frodo didn't get married, which I don't believe, and then Sam had so many kids, and then we all died and Sam, Legolas and Gimli went to Valinor, and then, uh, that's it."

Boromir made a face.

"That's -- well, alright," he managed to say. "All of us -- how far away in the future are we outside of the dream?"

"About two hundred years after I left Middle-Earth," Frodo estimated. "And I haven't gotten married."

"There's no way," Pippin laughed.

"I haven't! Besides, there's only Elves!" Frodo protested.

"You could marry an Elf," Aragorn interrupted.

Gimli turned red and burst into laughter. He raised his hand to tell them to ignore him.

"He called his son Faramir," Merry added, elbowing Pippin.

"How very sweet," Boromir said, with a real smile this time. "Did you tell him?"

Pippin shrugged, embarrassed.

"You should. I'm sure he would like to hear about it. Wait a second, did you -- who's in Valinor?"

"Bilbo, Sam, Legolas, Gimli, and, well, me," Frodo counted.

Boromir looked surprised but did not ask anything else. He noticed that the donkey was gone, and got to his feet.

"I should go," he said.

"What! No! Why?" Pippin protested.

"We must be leaving soon," Boromir guessed.

"Gandalf has not moved yet," Aragorn added.

As a matter of fact, Gandalf was sleeping. Boromir sighed and sat back down.

"Alright, then."


	29. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #LetBilboSayTheF-word2021

The donkey settled between Bilbo and Arwen, who were very pleased about it. They scratched its ears and its face until it was purring like a kitten.

"I've never seen a donkey like this one," Bilbo commented.

"I don't think it has, either," Dwalin snickered.

"Oh, don't be rude, he's only a donkey," Arwen soothed.

"I don't think it deserves any kindness," Bilbo protested. "It got poor Sam to sleep in the stables once."

"Is that why the poor lad showed up covered in hay?" Dwalin echoed.

"What did you even think happened?" Dori laughed.

Dwalin made a face.

"Something else," Dwalin hesitated.

"Excuse me!" Bilbo screamed in outrage.

"So I thought Frodo and him were married, so what?" Dwalin muttered. "Anyone would've thought that with the way they were looking at each other."

"Now that I think about it, they came awfully late to breakfast this morning," Bombur noticed. "And they've been spending every day together for weeks."

"Sam is taking care of him," Arin argued in a little voice. "It's a, uh, professional relationship."

Bilbo shook his head.

"It's not his job -- Sam's a gardener."

Arwen, who had been gradually turning redder and redder, covered her face in her hands. The donkey gently sniffed her elbow.

"Please, friends! This is hardly an appropriate choice of conversation," she let out.

Faramir nodded. Maybe his years of ruling Gondor next to Aragorn and Arwen were coming back to him and he felt the need to support her.

"What I'm much more interested in knowing," Faramir added, "is why you blamed the donkey for Sam's night in the stables."

"It's not a proper donkey," Bilbo grumbled. "It purrs! I'm telling you, it knows things no donkey should know, and it was trying to mess with Sam on purpose."

The donkey glared at him.

"See, it even makes faces," Bilbo added.

"Dogs make faces, too," Faramir argued.

"Do you live with one?" Arwen exclaimed in delight. "The only dog I've ever heard of is dear Huan."

Faramir shook his head.

"Farmer Maggot had dogs," Bilbo explained. "Big ones, too. Grip, Fang and Wolf."

She nodded, then looked back at the fire, where nothing much was happening.

"Say, do you think Boromir's alright? I barely know him, so perhaps I -- well, see, he looks rather troubled."

Faramir shrugged.

"Ah, well, I don't think Boromir's troubles are mine to explain," he muttered. "But I suppose he would appreciate knowing that you asked about his well-being."

"Why, of course! He is a dear friend of my companions'."

"Is he?" Faramir muttered angrily.

Faramir looked down at his feet.

"For months now, I -- it isn't mine to say," Faramir backtracked. "I can only say that I did not come all this way into the wilderness to see my brother be rejected by his friends for a mistake he had no hope of avoiding. He died a hero -- surely, he can be welcomed back as one? I am past the point of caring about how exactly it all went down -- I grieved Boromir twice, and my only wish is to see him happy now."

Faramir sighed.

"This is a rather sad conversation for such a bright morning."

"Yes, of course," Dwalin agreed. "Yet sad thoughts rarely wait until they are wanted."

"Still, we must shake them away," Faramir insisted.

"You're right, my lad," Dwalin exclaimed. "What were we talking about before this?"

"The donkey," Bilbo reminded him. "But we've exhausted the subject."

"You know what we weren't finished talking about? You and King Thranduil," Bombur said.

"Oh, I hate all of you and your beards and your hoods," Bilbo muttered in irritation. "Please, give a poor burglar a break."

"Well, there's nothing else to talk about," Bombur protested. "We've had no news from the outside for so long!"

They all turned to Faramir expectantly.

"Well, I can't dance, but I know a few songs," he proposed.

The music made a few heads turn around the fire.

"I know that song," Boromir commented.

Merry stared at him for a while, then threw him a pebble. Boromir reflexively swatted it away.

"Hey, hey, what was that for?" he protested.

"Well, you're feeling sad, so I'm cheering you up."

Boromir laughed, then looked away, only to receive more pebbles. Eventually, he caught one, and threw it back at Merry. It went back and forth like that for a while.

Aragorn snickered. He silently picked up a little rock and threw it at Boromir, then looked innocent when his friend turned back. He pointed to Legolas.

"Hey, what --" Legolas started, but Boromir had already thrown him a rock.

Legolas picked up one and threw it in his face. It hit Boromir on the nose.

"Mercy, please! That second one was from Aragorn," Frodo exclaimed.

"You little traitor!" Aragorn protested.

He picked up Frodo and aggressively ruffled his hair. Frodo wiggled like an angry worm, to no avail.

Somehow, Gandalf had managed to stay asleep until this point; as soon as he opened his eyes, the entire Fellowship froze, and sat back down like nothing had happened. Everyone was trying to hide their laughter, but they were doing so very poorly. Gandalf wondered if this was what the Valar thought "retirement" meant.

"If you must throw rocks at each other, please, do it in silence -- and away from me, if you can!"

He waved his hand and closed his eyes once more. Everyone moved away from the poor wizard and up the hill. Aragorn was still holding Frodo in his arms, despite his protests. He eventually gave up and accepted his newfound fate.

They reached the place where their companions were sitting, and were greeted by laughter.

"What are you doing? Oh, put the put boy down, won't you?" Bilbo exclaimed.

"Help me," Frodo muttered pathetically.

Arwen hid her face in her hands to hide her laughter.

"You're holding him like a baby," she managed to say.

"I know," Aragorn wheezed.

"I didn't know you were physically able to laugh," Boromir teased.

Aragorn swatted his arm playfully and, by some miracle, he was able to stop laughing long enough to answer.

"I suppose I am in a particularly good mood today. After all, the Fellowship is back together. It's good to have you back, brother," he said with a smile.

Boromir smiled at him, then at the rest of his friends.

"It's even better to be back," he said, and he meant it.

"You know, I missed out on the dancing and the singing this morning," Frodo let out.

When he remembered that he was still holding him, Aragorn burst into laughter again.

"Let me go," Frodo muttered, and it made Aragorn laugh so hard that he had no strength left to hold him, so Frodo slipped under his arms and ran back to Sam.

Aragorn hid his face on Arwen's shoulder and stayed there. Frodo could still hear him giggle like a child, even though the sound was muffled by Arwen's travel-cloak. Eventually, Arwen joined in, and they remained incapable of conversation for a long time. They were almost crying now. They managed to calm down, however, and sat straighter despite the tears gleaming on their cheeks.

"Can I talk now?" Frodo said.

Aragorn smiled, but he didn't laugh.

"Yes, of course. Music, was it? Well, I still -- should you like to dance with me," he added to Arwen. "I still remember those songs I talked about."

"Of course I would," Arwen smiled.

Arwen took his hand and they walked to the center of the ring. Aragorn suddenly looked very flustered.

"We have not danced together in a long time, and it seems that in my hurry, I forgot the words," he admitted sheepishly.

"Oh, Estel, you were going to sing?"

Aragorn shrugged playfully.

"Maybe," he let out with a goofy smile. "It's in the list of things that I would do for you."

Merry grimaced and hid his face in his hands.

"And I long to hear your beautiful voice, should you even sing gibberish," Arwen whispered back.

Merry slid from his seat and let out a grumble. He looked sickened.

"End my suffering!" he cried.

"Please, they're being sweet," Sam scolded him.

Frodo nodded in agreement. The romance must have been getting to him. He wanted to hold Sam's hand, but he didn't.

"I've waited for too long," Aragorn muttered. "I'm getting shy again."

"Don't look at them," Arwen soothed, "look at me. How does the dance go?"

Aragorn smiled gratefully.

"Well, it starts with a bow --"

He walked her through the steps, and as he did so he looked at her with such loving eyes that it was like they were in a world of their own, and when she smiled at him, it was like he was falling in love all over again. And Arwen saw him dance like a young man again, with his hair flowing over his shoulders, and she thought him fair, and beautiful, and she knew she was lucky to have him. At the end of the song, Arwen was almost crying, and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, uncaring of the watchful eyes of their companions.

Merry covered Pippin's eyes, and he swatted off his hand.

"Hey, I was married!" he protested.

"Do you even remember her?"

"No," Pippin lied.

In truth, he remembered her -- a little too much for his liking. She was lovely, of course, and he knew he had been fond of her, but she was much too old for him. He guessed that Éowyn must have felt the same when she remembered --

"Hey, Faramir, we met your future wife in Rohan the other day," he let out.

"Oh no," Aragorn refused. "I am leaving."

"I'll come with you," Arwen proposed, and she took his hand and walked away with him.

"Goodbye, then. Anyway, as I was saying, we met your future wife Éowyn."

"And? How is she?"

Pippin's face split in a devilish smile.

"She's nine. Goodnight!"

He ran off snickering to himself.

"Pippin, that's not funny! Come back here!" Merry protested, and he took off after him. "Besides, it's midday!"

When Pippin didn't answer, Faramir gave a horrified whine and pressed both his hands to his eyes. Frodo patted his shoulder to comfort him, then turned to Sam.

"I think we'll go too," he let out like it was a question, and he held out his hand for Sam to take.

Sam took it, and Frodo gave him a smile. They walked back to the cart and sat in their usual spot at the back of it. Softly, he laid his head on Sam's shoulder, and felt Sam start to caress his jaw.

"Frodo, I love you," Sam whispered in his ear.

"I love you too -- more than anyone, Sam."

Frodo felt his mind grow more and more clouded with various scenarios of equal measure pleasant and improper. He passed a hand over his eyes and bit his lip.

"Why are you making that face?" Sam asked him softly.

"I'm alright, I'm just --"

He turned to Sam and smiled softly at him.

"A little bit -- well, I don't know -- here."

He took Sam's hand and pressed it to his heart, which was beating furiously. He couldn't help but imagine even more things as it happened. He remembered the touch of Sam's hands on his waist, and of his lips on the back of his neck, and it made him want to do all sorts of things. He hid his face on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam," he whined, "I'm being much too intense right now."

"There's no such thing as too intense, but if you want to wait, we'll wait," Sam promised.

His sweet voice helped cool Frodo down. He snuggled closer against Sam's chest.

"Thank you," he murmured.

He felt his hands on his back and smiled. He gave a little sigh and closed his eyes.

"Can we stay here for today?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Sam muttered against him.

"Yay," Frodo let out happily.

"You know, I'd stay here forever if I could," Sam admitted, and he kissed Frodo's hand.

Frodo smiled at him. His thoughts came back, but he ignored them. They were in a cart, after all.

Back on the hill, most of the companions were sitting in small groups now that so many people had left. There was no main conversation; there was one, however, that is worth being mentioned, and it is Dwalin and Faramir's.

"I appreciated what you said in regards to your brother's fate. It's good to see that love perseveres even in such evil times. I lost my brother, too. His name was Balin."

Faramir nodded sadly.

"I'm sorry. How long had it been?"

"Years," Dwalin explained. "Yet we only learned of it a few months ago. Killed by Orcs, he was. Those devils!"

He shook his head.

"He smiled often, and he was kinder to poor Mr Baggins than the rest of us were at the beginning. When we went on our quest to get the mountain back, he was always our look-out man. I suppose his eyes failed him. I truly hope he is happy where he is. It's all I can hope for anymore. I wish he came back, but, well, what can I do? I can still see his face so clearly in my mind. He used to wear a red hood, and his beard was the color of fresh snow. I grew up with him. It never occurred to me that he would leave so soon."

Dwalin wiped his eyes. Faramir softly reached out and patted his shoulder.

"There was no funeral for Boromir, for we could not find his body after the waves took him. Yet I will always remember the sight of him, as he lay in the boat his companions laid him in to rest. He was cold. He looked asleep, yet he was not. There was something in his face that felt -- that felt so wrong, so awful. When I saw his body drift away, I felt worried that he would hit a rock and hurt himself. His body was right there, yet the idea that it was unfeeling felt foreign to me."

Faramir let out a little joyless laugh.

"There was always something missing at home after that, even years later. I felt like I was missing something, or forgetting someone."

"I know, my lad," Dwalin murmured, and he reached out to hold Faramir's hand. "Tell me, where do Men go after they are gone?"

Faramir shrugged, and his eyes filled themselves up with tears.

"Alas! I do not know! The Valar have not told us. Iluvatar kept it a mystery even to the Elves. But I dearly wish that wherever he went, he was happy. I comfort myself with the knowledge that he has come back, yet I still grieve him as though he was not next to me. A ghost he seems to me at times. But tell me yourself, if you will: where do Dwarves go after passing?"

Dwalin smiled.

"We join Mahal, our Maker, in the halls of stone He has carved for us."

"That sounds delightful. May he find happiness there," Faramir said, and he smiled.

"Thank you," Dwalin said (and he meant it).

They nodded at each other.

Somewhere at the end of the hill and the beginning of the forest, Merry managed to catch Pippin by the elbow.

"Pippin! Go apologize!" he scolded him.

"Fine, fine, I'll go, but only if you let go of my arm."

Merry raised both his hands into the air.

"Thank you," Pippin grumbled.

"Aw, don't be upset, Pip!" Merry protested.

"Then don't be mad at me! I don't like it when you do that," Pippin let out sadly.

"It's alright -- see, I'm not even angry, I'm just annoyed. Come on, let's get back to the others now."

They started to walk back to the hill when Pippin stopped and grabbed Merry's sleeve.

"You know, I had that dream yesterday -- the one where you're old and I'm crying. It's much worse when you can see it with your own eyes."

"It is, it rather is."

Merry patted his head and moved away, but Pippin stopped him again.

"Say, you're proud of me, aren't you? I'm not -- just annoying, am I?"

"Of course not, Pip. I meant what I said the other day. You really are -- you really are my brother."

"What happens when we get back? I mean, I don't even know where hobbits go after they're gone, and I don't want to without you. I don't want to die -- not yet. I mean, I know I lived a full life, but I don't even wholly remember it. What happens when the dream is done? Do we die again? Do we just fade? Where do we go? I don't -- I'm sorry, but I don't think I want to go just yet. I'm fourteen, I've barely lived at all."

Merry knelt down and held him in his arms. Pippin looked scared, and there were tears in his eyes. It was gut-wrenching for Merry to see him like this.

"Oh, Pip -- Pip, it's alright, brother. I'll ask Frodo to get you into Valinor, and if he doesn't, then -- I don't know, maybe I'll even trade my place. If that's even possible. I don't want to see you make this face again -- I hate it when you're sad, Pip."

He held Pippin's little face between his hands and dried his tears with his thumbs.

"You'll be alright, okay?"

"You can't not go!" Pippin exclaimed.

"Oh no, I'm not going anywhere. But -- I don't know, I just -- well, I suppose death isn't so bad if I know my little brother's happy."

"Don't be dense, Merry! We don't even know who's going and who's not yet. Also, don't be so -- sentimental and -- I don't know, heroic. It's really stupid."

"I mean it," Merry insisted. "So don't be scared, Pippin. I'm looking after you. And don't be dense either. Look at me -- I'm telling you, I've got it all figured out, okay? So please stop worrying."

He held Pippin in his arms again and kissed his head.

"I love you, Pip."

"Shut up."

"I mean it, you idiot!"

Pippin wrapped his arms around him.

"Well, I love you too, so don't die! I don't care if we both go, as long as we do it at the same time. I can't lose you again. I don't -- well, see now, that's sentimental of me, too, but that's not important. I had to stay for so long after you died! And I missed you! And -- well, death didn't seem so scary if we went together. But you just left me there."

Merry held his little brother closer to his heart. He was very reluctant to let go.

"It's alright, Pip."

"Say, can you carry me back to camp?"

"What? You never let me do that anymore."

"Well, I'm letting you now. And I'm trying to fall asleep, so, you know, I'll get a headstart."

"Why are you trying to fall asleep?" Merry protested, exasperated.

"Obviously because I dreamed you were all old last night -- don't ask questions, alright? I just want to sleep. And I like it when you pick me up. I feel very small again."

"Idiot," Merry muttered, and he picked him up like he would hold a small child.

Pippin fell asleep almost instantly, so Merry gently stroked his hair and thought back to their conversation. He remembered when Pippin was very small, and he would stick to Merry like glue, and ask him things, or simply look at what he was doing like Merry was his hero. Back then, Merry didn't even pretend to be annoyed (besides, he was way too young for teasing, and probably would've cried.) But then Merry had started to shift his focus elsewhere (namely, on a girl he liked that shall remain unnamed but whose identity you can probably guess), and Pippin couldn't get his attention as easily as he used to, so he took to annoying him in purpose to get a reaction out of him. It stayed like that.

Yet sometimes, like when he was asleep on his shoulder, Pippin turned back into that little boy again, and Merry felt like showing him new things in this wide world he barely knew, just to see the look on his face. He used to hate butterflies, but he wasn't scared of spiders; he liked bread with honey more than with butter; and he never combed his hair unless he wanted to impress someone, which is how Merry learned that he liked a girl in the first place. He remembered seeing him brush it with his fingers in a puddle, and ruffling it just to annoy him. No matter how old he grew, he was still the same little boy Merry had grown to love, and he wouldn't trade him for the world -- even if he was impossible to deal with sometimes.

All of these thoughts made Merry tear up. It also made him want to throw Pippin in a puddle and laugh at him -- but he chose not to. It was too precious a moment to break. He held him against his heart and wept, and forgot all about going back to camp. He clutched him like he was already gone, because the thought that Pippin was probably dead in reality had never left him, and he hated it. He wasn't happy to have a second chance -- he was ecstatic. Maybe this time, Pippin wouldn't have to watch him slip away. He promised himself that he would do whatever he could to get Pippin into Valinor, even beg. He was worth it.

Somewhere in Valinor, Namo groaned. He had to admit that he had a soft spot for these sorts of stories, seeing as he had a brother and a sister himself. He put his head in his hands, and the golden balance that was on his head swayed from side to side as he thought, like he was weighing his own thoughts.

"I am not keen on repeating the mistake I made years ago -- I also know that many mortals feel as such for their friends. Yet my heart cannot help itself, and it aches for these two little hobbits. I rarely weep, but for them, I might. Tell me, my love, am I growing soft?"

Vairë looked up from her work. They were sitting back to back, and she could easily turn around and press a hand to his shoulder.

"Softness is a desirable quality in the Judge of the Valar," she said in her hoarse voice.

He placed his own hand on top of hers.

"Yet I must be impartial. I feel great love for Beren and Luthien, but I truly believe that bringing them back was a mistake. Most souls beg me to have their loved ones brought back to them. If I enable them, am I truly a Judge? The line that separates things that can and cannot be is blurry, even to us. I shall even say: mostly to us, as reality is for most a canvas, but to us, it is moldable. It is but a set of rules to the Valar, who are mighty above all else on Arda. My love, I do not wish to repeat my mistake, yet I know that, were these merry souls to pass again, I would weep. Alas for the judge of the dead, whose cold heart has thawed over the long years of his labour!"

"Yet, my love, can we truly call ourselves mighty if we do not pay attention to the little feelings of our people? We are their helpers and their guides, yet we are so far away from them. Must we not hold pity and love in our hearts for them? Is it not normal to want to cherish them at times?"

He answered nothing, but his balance seemed to hesitate.

"Can I truly bring them here without facing repercussions?"

"What repercussions can there be for one whose words hold so much power?"

"They would come in the form of guilt, and shame."

Vairë gently put a hand to his cheek. He could not see her eyes, as she wore a veil of golden thread, but he knew still that she was frowning softly at him.

"Perhaps the judge of the dead, who has worked tirelessly for so long, would enjoy the taste of fondness, only once. He has made decisions out of love in the past; yet what greater love can he feel than his own inward pride?"

"I know the name of fondness, and she sits next to me," Namo replied with a smile.

"Then, please, listen to her words, for fondness is also the name of her husband. Bring them back, and should it make you happy once more, know that you were right."

She reached out for his hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles.

"Perhaps you would be comforted, were I to tell you that it is meant to be?"

They laughed together, softly. Then Namo looked at his wife, and smiled at her.

"Perhaps I shall feel pity once more."


	30. Saruman's remorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you like to have summaries, clap your hands (clap clap)

Saruman the White had been elected head of the White Council, despite Galadriel's wishes, which, at the time, displeased him immensely. He worried that she would team up with Gandalf and get his rival to take his place, which is part of the reason why he hired spies to, well, spy on him. We all know how well that turned out to go. Things snowballed until he was stabbed in the back by his own servant.

After his physical death, Saruman was brought back to Valinor to be judged by the council of the Valar, and was very obviously found guilty. He was sentenced to the same fate that had befallen Morgoth and Sauron, which was to spend a very long time in an empty corner of space and be very bored and annoyed for the rest of eternity.

The first thing he thought of during his isolation was that he had been so jealous of Gandalf that it had led him to do horrible things; the second one was the idea that perhaps Sauron had corrupted his mind a little; the third one was a disclaimer that, well, that wasn't what had happened, not quite; the fourth was that he had wanted power; and the fifth was that, well, it had all been a rather absurd idea to spy on Gandalf to begin with.

He thought back to the Uruk-hai, and found that he felt horrified. Then he remembered the Shire, and how corrupting with it like he had done had been targeted specifically towards Gandalf and he hadn't even bothered to show up. After all of this thinking, he started to feel sickened at the memory of sweet things, and rejoiced in the idea that he would be spending a lot of time in space, where there was nothing at all to look at.

At last, he told himself that it had been strange to be back in Valinor after so many years, and started to feel ashamed of having come back the way he did. It was nice, at least, to be alone, and to be spared the angry and hurt looks from those he used to call family. He hated then for a while, before telling himself that he probably ought to change his mentality if he wanted to get out someday. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to go back to Valinor, and even if space wasn't very pleasant, at least in space he was alone.

He laughed at his actions at first, because, well, what else could he say? He had kidnapped Gandalf; arranged to have king Théoden's son killed; and that was only two things he had done, and in truth, the number lacked a couple of zeroes. He laughed, and laughter was easier than the remorse that he was trying to push away, but he couldn't repress it forever, and it came back.

All of this thinking I've been telling you about is the result of Saruman's many years in space, for it took him a long time to come to that conclusion. Coincidentally, the day he first asked himself if he could do something to repair what he had done was the same day Estë raised her hand and pulled everyone into a deep sleep.

You might be worried that the dream would allow Morgoth and Sauron to rise again, but much like the day Luthien sung to him, Morgoth was quite useless when it came to being aware of things happening around him while he was sleeping, and Sauron was probably too stunned by his defeat to do anything. To make it short, sleep rendered them unable to spread their evil -- that, and, well, they were still trapped in nothingness outside of the dream anyway. Their souls alone could do nothing.

Yet Saruman found himself waking up in Isengard one day. It was morning, the sky was blue, and as he looked around, there were piles of books scattered about. After spending about two hundred years staring into pitch blackness, the sudden reappearance of color, smell, and touch was like a slap in his face. He sat there for a long time, disoriented and overwhelmed.

After taking a moment to realize that he had a body once more, he told himself quite uselessly that it was fall, and that once upon a time, he would have tended to the fruit-trees. He used to like fall, didn't he?

The thought that there was once a day where he considered himself something else than a traitor made him feel sick. Yet despite his anger, he went to look out the window, and saw the trees again, and then noticed the unfinished towers. Was there really a time in his life where he had done all of these things without even second-guessing himself? Had he really been so dense?

It made him laugh, but he wasn't happy. It would have been so easy, he told himself -- so easy to give himself a push in the right direction that day (or perhaps several) so he wouldn't have looked at the Palantir. But then he told himself that his evilness hadn't started with the Ithil-stone; there had been several signs of it, even long before -- not even signs, as they were bad things in themselves. He had been corrupted enough to call off the attack in Dol Guldur -- greedy enough to want the Ring despite having never seen it before. He asked himself if he would have risen to be the new Dark Lord, even if he hadn't been ensnared, and the thought angered him. He looked at the round stone that he had been trying very hard to ignore, and felt the need to break it, so he threw it out the window.

Two things happened at once after he did this. First, the Palantir shot back into the air as soon as it hit the ground and went bouncing down the hill; second, he heard Gandalf's voice, which was the first one he had heard in a long time, and for a second, he felt comforted. They talked, and he could barely remember what they talked about now, because he had been so confused that ideas and words had come out of him despite the fact that he had almost forgotten how to speak.

He stayed by his window the next day, hoping Gandalf would come by to talk again, but he didn't, so Saruman started thinking about other things, like how Gandalf had offered him mercy once, despite everything he had done to him, and the thought made him emotional. A brother he had been to Saruman once, but not anymore. He wondered if there was something he could do to show his good intentions. The first thing that came to his mind was the strange state of the world around him, for he noticed that birds did not sing and bees did not hum, and the people in the streets that he saw once he felt ready to get out of Isengard acted like broken puppets. He decided to find an answer to it, and deliver it to Gandalf.

Now, Saruman was a man of science and knowledge. There was a reason why he kept books everywhere, and why he was revered for his knowledge. He went to work and did not stop until he had found an answer.

He took an apple from a tree, and it ripened, then rotted. Burned a broken branch, and it kept on burning without using up the wood. Kicked the Palantir onto a wall (which was very satisfying), and it rolled back, but left a crack in the rock. Then he went to the nearest town and looked at its people. He saw that there was some rhyme to what they were doing. Two women talked endlessly about a growing boy's newfound ability to talk, and if they repeated the same words for three hours, eventually, they started to say something else -- moved onto a new sentence. But by bit, he was able to guess that they were actually talking. He went to the Shire and saw a woman knitting something, and eventually, it became a very deformed shirt, then to Rivendell, where Elrond was trying to write a letter that, after a little bit of effort, he was able to understand that he was writing to his daughter.

Some people had some sort of awareness of what they were doing. The knitting lady was able to talk to him, but she only explained what she was doing. She didn't sleep, or eat, but did not get thinner, and when she got to her room, she sat down on her bed with her eyes unseeing until it was morning time again. The smith that polished his sword until it broke could also tell him about what he was doing, much like the man in the stables in Bree. It was as though they knew what they were doing, but thought it was normal. Saruman was hoping for a good answer to his questions, and he had to admit that it was an interesting topic to explore -- he only hoped that there really was logic behind it. All he could think of was that perhaps the people were as broken as the Palantir, and didn't work properly anymore.

He wandered around the mountains for a while, and found the road with Gandalf's symbol. It surprised him, for he knew that this road was not supposed to exist, so he reached it and looked at it. It was nighttime, and the symbols were glowing a faint blue. It was rather soothing. The fact that it was Gandalf's symbol stuck out to him more than the road itself. Gandalf did not use his symbol needlessly, so he supposed that there must be a reason why this road was full of it. He sat down next to it and tried a few experiments. It was a proper road, or so it seemed to be, until he broke off the rock right on a symbol. Suddenly, the ground shook, and the mountainside shot through the crack and into the sky like it had previously been pushed down. Saruman looked on in wonder. He knew that he was making progress. He tried to redraw the symbol on the jagged stone, and as soon as he was done, his hand sunk into the rock as though it were made of water. He found that it was now easy to manipulate the mountainside, and even managed to push it back into road-shape.

Then he left the mountainside to find trees; he carved the symbol on a rotten apple, but it didn't bring it back to its previous state. Then he found a dying horse, for he was close to Rohan, and drew Gandalf's symbol on its flank. The horse turned to water, and he hesitantly reached out for it. When he put his hand inside the body, it was like there was nothing there, but he could feel something warm somewhere, so he kept searching. He tried to grab it, and felt a weak resistance; he guessed that whatever it was was tangible, after all, and pulled it out. As he did so, the horse opened its eyes and stood up, and stared at him with its big black eyes. Saruman stood up and stared right back at it, completely flabbergasted. When it tried to sniff his face, he jerked back. He had never been good with animals.

"Well," he said to it, "you're alive once more. Goodbye!"

The horse kept following him around after that, until he grew used to the exasperating sight of its brown coat. He became angry and tried to shoo it away, but it always came back. He had not planned on something like this happening at all, but perhaps it would prove useful. He thought of giving it a name, then thought that it probably wouldn't want any name that came from him of all people, and took to calling it Brown Horse, which was probably the least original name he could have come up with, but then again, it wasn't a name. He could only assume that she was following him out of gratitude or something similar, or she would have run back to her master, if she even had one, so he begrudgingly stopped trying to lose her.

Brown Horse seemed to like him, which was very unpleasant and completely ridiculous. She would lay down her head on his lap in the hopes that he would pet her, and she would sleep next to him as though she was worried he would catch a cold. It was all very inappropriate, but he had to admit that it was nice to have company. He was still scared of people, but Brown Horse, well, he didn't mind. Perhaps it was selfish to want a fresh start, and perhaps he didn't deserve such a sweet companion, but he was stuck with her regardless of the morality of it. There was something between wizards and horses, he thought, something that never died, apparently.

Regardless of all of that, Saruman kept thinking about the strange things that were happening around him, and managed to remember a heavy drowsiness before he woke up in Isengard. It felt like he had been asleep for months, and the memory of it was faint -- he could somewhat remember reading a book. He guessed that he was still stuck inside a dream -- perhaps some sort of strange test from the Valar. That would explain why Gandalf's symbol could raise the dead somehow. It might even be a metaphor for something that he hadn't understood yet. He thought some more, then decided to go find him, even if he dreaded to see the look on his face. Luckily, Brown Horse was there, and she agreed to be saddled. She took him all the way to Gondor, where he could only assume Gandalf had gone to study the situation himself in its great libraries.

Fate wasn't done with him, apparently, because on the way to Minas Tirith, as he was going through the forest, he heard footsteps. He got down to his feet, and asked himself if hiding would be appropriate, but soon realized that whoever was walking was going in circles. Since he was growing curious despite himself, he cautiously approached the passerby, who turned out to be a little creature with big, bulbous eyes, and long feet. It seemed asleep, so he approached it and looked at its face. It didn't seem very conscious, and answered none of his questions, so he decided to experiment on it. He took out some paper and drew Gandalf's symbol on it, then gently placed it in the creature's hand. It didn't turn into water but woke up right away. Its eyes went wide, and it jumped back in fear; then it dropped the paper and immediately went back to its previous state. Saruman took out a little pouch and a rope, and placed the paper in it, before tying it around the creature's neck. It looked less scared of him this time, but it still didn't want to talk.

Perhaps Saruman had gotten used to taking care of something other than himself during his travel, or perhaps he was feeling pity for the poor thing; regardless of that, he still gave it something to eat when he saw how hungry it looked. Gollum (because of course it was him) didn't seem very happy to be awake, and as a matter of fact, he looked sad. But he didn't try to remove his necklace, so Saruman decided that he was at least somewhat content, and tried to ask him things. Yet Gollum refused to say even a word. Saruman could understand that, so he didn't press him further. When he and Brown Horse took off, Gollum followed them, and it stayed like this for a while.

One night, he smelled smoke. He decided not to go see, and to stay as far away from it as he could possibly be, but Brown Horse had other plans. She headed towards the smell, and since he didn't want to be separated from her, he had no choice but to follow her to the edge of the wood. He was horrified to see how many people were sitting around the flames. There was even the ringbearer, and the two hobbits who were with the Ents during the fall of Isengard. But then he saw Gandalf, and cursed his luck. He decided to wait until he was alone, which would inevitably end up very badly, or make him look awful, but well, what other choice did he have?

He wasn't done cursing yet: suddenly, Brown Horse took off and entered the clearing. He stayed there, making panicked faces at her, but she didn't come back, only looked back at him questioningly. Gollum reached his side, and seemed to feel the same reluctance, and he hid behind Saruman's cloak. Saruman thought that he looked very pitiful -- almost childlike in his fear. When they heard the companions talk about how the horse was saddled, and its rider was probably close by, they both froze. Gollum, especially, looked terrified, to the point where he was shaking and looking back and forth between the forest and Saruman, desperate to flee but unwilling to leave him. Saruman felt something soft enter his heart, and he knelt in front of him. He tried to look reassuring.

"Do you see this symbol on the paper? This is Gandalf's symbol."

Gollum looked at his necklace and nodded.

"His magic woke you up. He must be a good man, then, wouldn't you agree?"

Gollum looked at him, and if he had looked like a child before, he now looked old and tired and battered by the years. He shook his head, and tears entered his eyes. Then he spoke for the first time since they had met, and his words were sad.

"I'm not," Gollum said, and he looked at him searchingly, like he was measuring his reaction. "Not a good man, no."

Saruman smiled at him in understanding, and he didn't know why he was acting like this, but perhaps it was easier to connect with people after being away from them for so long.

"I'm not a good man either," he said, and it felt like such a ridiculous understatement that he couldn't help but laugh at it. "But we need to go get Brown Horse either way. I'll have a talk with Gandalf, then we shall leave once more."

Gollum frowned, then looked back at the fire, and at the two little hobbits holding hands. He shook his head again.

"Not a good man," he repeated. "Not a good one at all."

It was absurd, Saruman thought, that he felt so much compassion for the little creature, and yet he did.

"I am -- scared of them too. Yet I have business to attend to, and a friend to fetch. You may stay here, if you like. I shall be back soon, or so I hope. Will you come with me, or stay here?"

"Good Sméagol always follows," Gollum said almost like it was a joke, then shook his head. "Sméagol is good. But there's no more of him now, oh no. Only Gollum. Very bad Gollum. Awful, awful. But he'll come, yes, he'll come"

"We'll be alright," Saruman promised. "They're not me, which is a good thing. Come now! We cannot stay here forever. It would only make matters worse."

It took him a second to force himself to walk forward, but when he did, he heard Brown Horse give a little whinny. He sighed. This was bound to happen one day or the other. He entered the clearing, with Gollum hiding behind him, and Brown Horse walked over to him and pressed her muzzle to him. Gandalf stared at them and only looked vaguely surprised.

"I knew that you would come back to see me, but I must admit that this is not how I imagined our paths would cross again," he commented.

Saruman struggled to find something to say.

"I hold new knowledge that you might like to hear," he let out. "Information on how to wake the sleeping, and even -- shall I say it so bluntly? -- raise the dead. Should you ask, I will give it to you freely, as a gesture, if not of peace, then of no further antagonization."

Gandalf answered nothing. Perhaps he was also struggling to find an answer. As a matter of fact, he was torn between smiling and accepting him back with open arms, and answering coldly like he was supposed to do, not only as an agent of the Valar, but as a fellow wizard who had been betrayed. He sat back down and realized that he would need more than five seconds to reflect on the new developments.

"Wait in the forest. I shall come find you," he eventually managed to say.

"Right," Saruman nodded, and he took Brown Horse's halter in his hand and gently walked her back to the edge of the forest.

He suddenly remembered what Gandalf had offered him so long ago, and placed his staff and the Keys of Orthanc on the ground by the forest's edge, then he disappeared in the shadows.

Around the fire, everyone had grown quiet. Nobody wanted to say something that could disturb Gandalf, who was thinking to himself -- except Pippin.

"Was that the wizard that was stabbed?" he asked in a little voice.

"He is," Gandalf answered in a voice that didn't seem to know which emotion it was portraying. "Curumo was his name, a long time ago. He volunteered, while I was ordered to go."

"Volunteered for what?" Frodo asked.

"Volunteered to come to Middle-Earth, of course. He was a Maiar of Aulë the Smith, and along with him came forward only he who would become Alatar the Blue. Alatar bid Pallando, a servant of Oromë, to follow him; the Blue Wizards they would later be called. It was Yavanna herself who asked for Radagast the Brown to follow Saruman as his companion; and I was ordered by Manwë to join their order."

"I thought you --"

"Quiet," Gandalf snapped.

Frodo shut his mouth and added nothing else. Sam patted his knee.

"The first War of the Ring had ended, and the Valar knew that the people would need help in removing all evil influences and in recovering lost alliances, and so they sent us. Saruman was the first of our order, and I was second. He held the firm belief that I would supplant him, and kept a close eye on me throughout the years -- when he noticed my interest in hobbits, he went to the Shire himself at first, then started to plant spies. Most of these things I have learned only after his trial before the Valar, so long ago. Yet I suspected already that he covered the one Ring when he refused to attack Dol Guldur, where Sauron's power was growing. We attacked a lot later than we could have; Sauron abandoned Dol Guldur and went to Mordor, where he would from then on stay until his ultimate defeat. He had recovered enough power to announce his return; and he contacted Saruman through the Palantir of Isengard. Saruman wanted the Ring, of course, and although he pretended to be loyal to Sauron, who had ensnared him, he was serving his own purposes and was loyal to nobody but himself."

Gandalf lost himself in his own thoughts for a long time. Then he stood up.

"I offered him my pardon once, and it seems that he has chosen to accept it. I shall need to go think now. Goodnight!"

He left the rest of his companions to sit around the fire while he climbed up the hill and sat there under the stars for a long time.

"That was the wizard who turned the Shire into --" Sam commented, and he couldn't find the words to explain how horrible it had been.

"He cut down the forests of the Ents," Merry added.

"And ensnared Wormtongue," Pippin finished.

"He kidnapped Gandalf," Frodo murmured.

"The Orcs who captured Merry and Pippin bore his symbol," Aragorn said in a low voice.

He purposefully let out the rest, but Faramir looked at Boromir's face, and suddenly understood, and his face broke into a snarl. He wanted to throw something at the ground, but there was nothing to throw.

"Why should we need him?" Faramir exclaimed.

He stood up, and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. His face looked desperate now, creviced by grief and love and horror. He longed to run after Saruman and fight him and scream at him.

"He killed one of the bravest men in Gondor, and as long as I live, he shan't be able to forget it! See what he did to my brother! His venomous words spread to the green country of Rohan, where the hand of the strongest shieldmaiden was bargained in exchange for treachery! See what he did to my wife! See what he did to the brave and the strong and those who fought against him!"

He couldn't find any more words. He let go of his sword hilt. Suddenly, all his anger left him, and he was left a shaking mess. He sat back down and closed his eyes.

"See what he did to my brother; see what he did to my wife," he murmured. "As long as I live, I shan't be able to walk the same ground as him without anger coursing through my veins. Can we truly ally ourselves with him? What kindness does he have? What help can he give us that we cannot receive from Gandalf? I ask you again, my friends: why should we need him?"

Frodo looked up from the ground at which he had been staring. He was a kind and forgiving soul, and didn't like to hear these kinds of things.

"He went on trial after he died. Well, he wasn't dead, of course, only physically. I think they threw him into space. I wasn't there when it happened, but I heard about it. I can't imagine being stuck there for so long. Perhaps the Valar, in their kindness, have offered him a second chance. Yet, were we to accept his help, would we be betraying our own? Would we be taking his side? Would we be saying that everything he did was mellow enough to be forgiven? Or is it unforgivable? Is forgiveness naive? Would it enable something fouler yet and grant him new allies? The Valar's pardon has been granted to Morgoth himself. What about ours? Should we grant it? In forgiving him, I fear we risk minimizing his crimes, and if we show friendship, we risk losing our own. I've --"

He turned to Sam regretfully, and Sam took his hand.

"We can't risk losing good friends on his account, or undermining the stability of our Fellowship. We must make a decision together."

Everyone nodded.

"The final decision should come to Boromir," Aragorn said.

There were general murmurs of agreement.

"Why?" Boromir protested.

"Don't be dense," Merry scolded.

"No -- I know why, yet, well, the final say in the matter will be Gandalf's, will it not? Why bother to have me decide something?"

"Well, Gandalf may choose something, but we'll follow your lead on how we react to it and act towards, well, him," Merry explained. "Right?"

Aragorn nodded.

"Then I shall start our discussion by referring to his motive: taking the Ring. I know how much of a pull the cursed thing has. I wanted it for my city, while he wanted it for its power; yet if you've forgiven me for it, should you not forgive him too?"

"It's not the same," Pippin cut him. "Have you not heard of how -- I -- it's not the same, you cabbage-head, and I can't even find words because it's too bold a claim for my brain to wrap itself around. Saruman killed so many people out of lust for the Ring -- and for so long, too! Strider, please, say something, I can't find the words."

"Me?" Aragorn echoed.

"You're a king, you know how to make speeches," Pippin explained.

"I see."

Aragorn nodded and turned back to Boromir.

"Please, my friend, do not think of yourself as on the same level as Saruman the White. You were the future intendant of a beautiful city who was losing a war, and you wanted to use its power for good. You had lives on your shoulders. I have ruled as king of Gondor for many long years, and I remember the feeling of wanting to protect my people at any cost. Boromir, you are a brave man, and if the Ring seduced you once, you were quick to recover your spirits, and did not let it get in the way of friendship again. You died a hero, and you shall live again as one. So please, my friend, raise your head, and feel peace once more, for I am proud to call Boromir, son of Denethor my friend, and I know the feeling is shared by all of us."

Boromir looked touched by Aragorn's words, but he couldn't bring himself to accept them and shook his head.

"I believe we have delved into matters unrelated to the topic at hand," he said, and wiped his eyes. "Frodo?"

He still looked uncertain when he said his name, like he wasn't sure if he had the right to talk to him.

"Oh! Right, er, well, I'm undecided," Frodo muttered sheepishly. "My forgiveness, I'm afraid, comes too easily, and like the Valar who believed in Morgoth's false redemption, I'm afraid I'll advise in favor of something that will get us hurt later on. Yet I'm afraid I can't simply propose that we reject his offer, for I -- I don't know. I'll let someone else speak now. Sam?"

"I don't think we should make a hasty decision. Gandalf had the right idea when he left us to go think. Besides, I'm not nearly smart enough to talk about issues like these. I don't have any answers. All I know is that the last time I refused to forgive someone, it drew me away ever so slightly from someone that I love, and I don't want to make that mistake again. So I'll vote in favour of what the company decides. Our friendship is more important to me than whatever we decide about him. I don't want to see us broken and angry about it. Gimli?"

Gimli's answer was very short and made Legolas burst into laughter.

"Well, I tried to throw an axe at his head once, and I'll gladly do it again. That's my answer."

He smiled at Legolas, then continued.

"I might have exaggerated a little, but I'll say in all seriousness that I don't know why we should make deals with horrendous wizard's like this one. I saw him earlier, and I couldn't help but feel a shiver of disgust, and I pitied that poor horse of his. If we do accept his help and let him travel with us, where will he sleep? And will he sit in the cart with us? We must prepare for an uncomfortable journey, in case Gandalf chooses to let him follow. What will our conversations be like? Will he sit around the fire? These questions bring forth more questions, and make me feel more disgust for him. It is easier to forgive when you can part ways afterwards, but we won't have that luxury. Shall we befriend him eventually? Shall we laugh with him, and tell him stories?"

He grimaced and passed a hand over his eye.

"Such is my answer. I ask that you consider my words, should Gandalf choose to accept his help. Legolas?"

Legolas smiled sweetly at him.

"You said everything I thought of, only more clearly. Arwen? I mean -- lady Arwen."

"Arwen will do fine," Arwen smiled. "We are friends, after all."

Aragorn looked very proud that his friends and his wife were getting along.

"Much like Frodo, I remain undecided. How can we know if his remorse is real? All that we know of Saruman the White comes from before his judgement. Perhaps he has done more things, better things, that we do not know of yet. I ask that we give him the benefit of the doubt, at least."

Frodo agreed, but said nothing about it.

"Shall you speak now, Estel?"

"I'll wait until everyone has made their choice. Dwalin?"

"Oh, am I included? I thought I would only listen. Well, then, let me think. One of our great leaders, Thorin Oakenshield, was a brave man, and a good one, until his lust for gold took over. So proud he became that a war exploded. The Arkenstone was his most prized possession, and I remember he almost lost his friendship with dear Mr Baggins over it. Terrible things can greediness entail, yet in the end, Thorin came to his senses, and turned back into the leader that we loved. I am not fond of the person he became under the Mountain, yet I am grateful that he saw the error of his ways eventually. I cannot say that my memory of him is spotless, yet, well, he was a dear friend of mine, and despite everything, he is and shall remain one. Perhaps such is how Gandalf feels about the issue. He is bound to have better memories of him than we do. I am sure that he has good reasons to feel torn. Perhaps for Gandalf, we should consider accepting Saruman's help. Dori?"

Dori fiddled with his purple hood for a few seconds.

"What happens if we change our mind halfway through our journey? I don't feel like it is mine to talk about someone's presence like I would talk about luggage, or an object. I think that the decision is Gandalf's, and that all we should do is make sure we can deal with whatever he chooses. I am not looking forward to his decision, as I am sure none of us are, and all I wish is for peace when we learn of it. Nori?"

"I have no idea," Nori admitted. "This whole conversation is flying right over my head. I cannot remember a single point that has been made. I'll wait until we make a decision, and accept it, and then decide if I like it or not afterwards. I'm not one to participate in decisions like these. I don't think I shall mind either decision. I am content with everyone's company, and with the rhythm our travels have taken. I shan't mind one more person. I care not about the past, or the future. Right now, I am happy, and I shall hope that I continue to be. Such is my counsel. Gloin?"

Gloin started to laugh.

"I can barely wrap my head around everyone's thoughts, yet it is my turn to speak. It occured to me that the first people to speak did not have the chance to hear everyone before they made their decision. Shall we go around once more?"

Aragorn let out a whine and covered his face in his hands. His despair made his companions laugh.

"Please, no more!" he pleaded. "We are barely halfway done yet. I don't think I shall be able to have this conversation twice."

"Some king you are," Faramir teased.

"Pardon me!" Arwen protested.

Aragorn swatted him on the arm. He was laughing

"Meetings were never my strong suit," he admitted. "They're like never-ending spirals in which you can stay stuck for hours without even coming to a conclusion. But we sway from our topic once more. Please, dear friend, continue -- and know that you shall speak only once!"

From playful and light, the mood around the fire became some once more. Frodo found himself wishing that he could go back to the cart.

"Alright. Well --"

Bilbo raised his hand to interrupt him.

"Wait, wait -- poor Frodo doesn't look too well. Are you alright, my lad?"

"Oh, I, uh," Frodo blubbered, very embarrassed, and he kept making sounds like these for a little while.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear, I almost forgot that you were sick! Forgive me, dear friend. Please, take all the time you need away from our conversation," Aragorn stammered. "Sam can tell you what we decided when we're done."

Frodo and Sam exchanged a plaintive look, then Frodo stood up.

"Oh, I'm, uh, thank you," Frodo managed to answer. "Sorry, Sam. Goodbye, now, and good luck."

"I'll force them to make it quick," Sam promised.

"Thank you."

Frodo gave him one of his warm smiles, then walked off before the urge to kiss him got too strong. Sam stayed there, making a face to himself (that everyone noticed, but chose not to talk about), until Gloin opened his mouth again and he was brought back to the present moment. Nobody seemed very keen on restarting the meeting, and as a matter of fact, Aragorn had a headache.

"Alright. Well, what I was about to say was that I have nothing to say. I know next to nothing about Saruman and wizards. I know that he gave up his staff earlier. Perhaps he has no more power without it. I don't know. I think a wizard is a powerful ally, and, well, why refuse his help? Perhaps he does feel remorse, and regardless of that, he wants to help us, which is good enough reason to at least see what he has to show us. Whose turn is it now? Bifur?"

"Are we going in name order?" Bifur protested.

It made everyone laugh. Frodo could hear them from where he was sitting on top of the cart, and looking at Sam with a fond smile on his face. He let his head rest on his fist and looked at him, content to simply see his face, until Sam turned around. Frodo looked away around like he had suddenly noticed something very interesting somewhere else, then he gave him a little wave. Sam smiled at him and waved back, then brought his attention back to the conversation. Frodo didn't look away from him until the end of the meeting. Sam himself was very distracted and couldn't think of anything else. He barely listened to the remaining companions.

"As a matter of fact, we are, yes. Glad you picked up on it," Gloin said. "But we're missing a few."

"We are," Bifur sighed. "What I will say is this, and it's rather simple: what does Boromir feel we should do? I shan't be able to give my thoughts knowing they could hurt a friend of mine. I know that something happened between you and Saruman, yet I do not know what. Perhaps we should shed some light on it."

"Oh. Well, Saruman the White sent Orcs to take the Ring. They had orders to capture any Halfling they found, and Merry and Pippin were in the forest that day. I tried to protect them, but I died. That's it," Boromir explained, and he looked down at his feet. "It was a long time ago. Does that enlighten you?"

"It does," Bifur nodded sadly. "And I say no. I shan't ally myself with someone who killed a friend of mine. Bofur?"

Bofur stroked his beard for a while as he thought.

"What would Gandalf's forgiveness mean? He says often that expressions and words can mean many different things. Would his pardon mean that he has forgotten saruman's crimes? Would it mean that he deems them unimportant and small enough to ignore? Would it mean the renewal of friendship, because he still cares about Saruman? Or would it be a simple alliance just the time of a trip? I know Gandalf to be a loving man, for he offered pardon to Saruman long ago. If he chooses to forgive him once more, I don't know if I'll have enough courage, or enough faith in my rightness, to oppose him, for who knows Saruman, and who knows betrayal better than Gandalf? He has told us that he was with the Valar -- Olorin he was called. Has not Olorin been betrayed by Morgoth, then by Sauron already? Perhaps he feels desperate to believe in change. The Valar are merciful, and Gandalf is, too. Perhaps mercy is the way to go. We reach the last few speeches of our council now. Bombur?"

"Oh, dear. How would I even know what to add to such wonderful, eloquent speeches? My mind goes to the people who are suffering from this dream. Perhaps Gandalf is thinking of them, too. We might be able to help them if we listen to Saruman's counsel. For them, I vote yes. Arin?"

"I can -- I'm -- uh, well, I don't know," he panicked.

"Take your time, lad," Bombur soothed. "It'll give poor Aragorn a chance to think about something else, at least."

Aragorn shook his head.

"Mercy, please!" he let out.

"Shall we have another meeting to decide if you deserve it?" Boromir joked.

"No!" Aragorn pleaded, and he started to laugh.

He stayed there and laughed for a while. His headache subsided, then Arin went on with his speech.

"Well, I think -- er, I've grown to be very fond of all of you, and I must say that I'm quite displeased by the idea of adding someone who won't be a friend. Perhaps my opinion isn't very useful, but, well, I don't know what else to add. I feel like everything has been said already. Yet we still have voices to hear. Barin?"

"Oh, please, don't ask me, I'll only embarrass myself," Barin muttered under his hood. "I don't know -- I'll say no. Bloin?"

"I'm not -- you can't leave it at that," Bloin protested. "It's still your turn."

"Fine, er, well, I think -- I don't know. Haven't we talked about everything? Can we skip ahead to someone who has something new to say? Bili? Mr Baggins?"

"Oh, I have something to say," Bilbo approved. "You see, back when I was young and we were going to the Lonely Mountain, there was this -- thing? Person? We never really knew, but it was called the Necromancer, and the way people talked about it was terrifying. I never knew what it was, only that Gandalf left to fight it, and only recently learned that it was Sauron's power regrowing. Now, Saruman delayed the attack on Sauron so Sauron would grow strong enough to not be completely vanquished and resume his search for the Ring, which Saruman would have stolen from him afterwards. Now, I found the Ring -- well, stole it, should I say -- in a cave, where it was protected by a creature called Gollum. I ask myself, what would Saruman have done with it, had he found it first? Would he have killed Gollum? He was jealous enough of Gandalf to spy on him -- would he have attacked the Shire? Now, perhaps Saruman truly is trying to redeem himself, and perhaps listening to him will only solidify his rise back to the light. But, well, I can't say I'm at ease. I worry he might try something to hurt us while we sleep. If he comes with us, I shall ask that we remove his weapons, and any relic of power he might possess, as a security. Merry? Pippin?"

"No," said Merry.

"Absolutely not," Pippin added.

Aragorn gave a sigh and raised his hand. He seemed to be counting something.

"Six positive, seven negative, five neutral -- actually, more neutral votes than that, considering not everyone spoke. Seven neutral, if we add Bloin and Bili, who have not spoken. I have not counted myself, nor Boromir's first speech, as we have decided that he would come last."

Somewhere, Namo nodded approvingly, because it sounded like they had reproduced the council of the Valar.

Boromir sighed.

"My opinion is rather simple. He kidnapped the little ones. As much as I feel like his choices mirror mine, I -- they're -- simply look at them. Look into their eyes -- why would you want to hurt them? And their country, the Shire, I hear it fell under his grip. I cannot forgive that. Or perhaps I can, but I shan't forget it. He'll have my blade to answer to, shall he ever touch a hair on their heads again."

Eventually, Gandalf came back, and talked some more. Sam barely listened to any of it. When the meeting was finally over, dawn was blooming under the clouds, and as soon as he reached the cart, he curled up next to Frodo and fell asleep immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment on the debate in the comments! I'd love to hear what everyone would have said, were they part of the company


End file.
